'   WM 

'   '    ',1 

I            i 

's  ■;■'■'■  ■■ 

W»i:«!'«t«*.*L'fi»; 


The  Liliijiriiin    shall  cnu.'-c  t(i  he  kept  ii  register  of  all 


i'^    hooks  is*ue<l  ami  returned  :  and  all  books  taken  by  the  mciiihers  of  the     Vk 
I'P     Lcsrislatiire,  or  its  ofTicers,  shall  he  returned  at  the  close  of  the  session.     If     vU 


I 

I' 


,"#n 


any  pers'on  injure  or  (ail  to  return  any  l>o  ik  taken  from  the  Library,  he 
shall  forfeit  and  pay  Id  the  Librarian,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Library,  three 
limes  the  value  thereof;  and  bef<irc  the  Controller  shall  issue  his  warrant 
in  favor  cif  my  mcmbor  or  oHi<cr  of  the  L',';^islature,  or  of  (his  State,  for 
his  per  diem  all;i\vanee  or  salary,  he  shall  be  satisfied  that  such  nitinber  or 
ofIi<'er  has  rL'turued  all  books  taken  out  of  the  Ijihrary  by  him,  and  has 
s»rftlc'l  all  aeeount-  for  injuring  such  books  or  otherwise. 

Sec.  L>.  Hoidvs  may  bo  taken  from  the  Library  by  the  members  of  the 
Lcfrisliiturc  and  its  officers  ilurin*;  the  session  of  the  same,  and  at  any  time 
by  the  (iovernor  and  the  oflicors  of  the  Executive  Department  of  this  State, 
who  are  rei|uire<l  to  kce]i  their  ofliccs  at  the  seat  of  government :  (be  Jus- 
tices of*  the  iSnpreiue  Court;  the  Attorney-tTcncral :  and  the  Trustees  of 
the  Li'ir.iry. 

AVKRV,   STATK   TRISTKU. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

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http://www.archive.org/details/dangerfieldsrestOOsedl 


MNGERFIELD'S    REST; 


BEFORE  THE  STORM. 


21  ttoucl 


OF    AMERICAN    LIFE   AND    MANNERS. 


T 


The  gods  are  just,  and  of  our  pleasant  vices 
Make  instruments  to  scourge  ns. 

Shakspbare. 


NEW    YORK: 

SHELDON     &    COMPANY,     PUBLISHERS, 

835  Broadway,  cor.  WouTn  Strkkt. 

1864. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congrciss,  in  the  year  1864,  by 

SHELDON  &  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Oflice  of  tiie  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 

District  of  New  York. 


SRJ  P 

.0 


V66i 


DANGERFIELD'S  REST 


OR, 


BEFOUE    THE    STORM 


CHAPTER  I. 


WHOEVER  had  been  in  the  middle  of  the  Atlantic 
Ocean,  on  Friday  the  twenty-fourth  of  August,  185-, 
or  more  strictly,  had  been  at  a  point  equidistant  from  Mon- 
tauk  Point  and  Cape  Clear — might  have  seen  the  R.  M. 
Steamship  Assyria  bowling  westward  as  fast  as  her  powerful 
engines  and  a  free  breeze  on  her  quarter  would  allow.  It 
was  drawing  toward  the  close  of  one  of  those  sultry  days 
which  at  sea  bring  universal  lassitude,  and  heighten  the 
reaction  of  spirits  and  vivacity  when  the  fresh  evening  air 
stirs  in  pursuit  of  the  falling  sun.  There  had  been  little 
sea  running,  but  a  long  velvety  swell,  the  remote  effect  of 
distant  gales,  which,  in  the  absence  of  wind,  so  often  usurps 
the  place  of  a  more  perfect  calm,  had  swept  slowly  by,  un- 
broken, save  where  the  sharp  black  bow  of  the  gallant  ves- 
sel dashed  through  its  sullen  bulk,  throwing  high  in  air 
her  tireless  precursor  of  glittering  foam.  Now,  however, 
as  the  sun  neared  the  horizon,  the  rippling  catspaws  be- 
came more  and  more  frequent,  the  cooling  puffs  from  the 
south-east  became  more  and  more  steady,  and  as  his  lower 
limb  touched  the  blue  and  distant  line,  the  Assyria  was 


6  dangerfield's  rest;  or, 

rushing  through  the  water  at  the  rate  of  sixteen  knots  an 
hour. 

Thirty  minutes  before,  the  spacious  quarter-deck  of  the 
steamship  was  silent  enough,  and,  indeed,  all  but  deserted ; 
but  now  it  suddenly  became  the  scene  of  great  gaiety  and 
animation.  The  gentlemen  left  their  wine  and  the  dinner 
table,  the  ladies  no  longer  sought  shelter  from  the  burning 
sun.  Many  were  scattered  in  knots  laughing  and  chatting, 
some  promenading  in  couples,  a  few  solitary  ones  reading 
or  gazing  wistfully  across  the  traversed  waste  astern.  A 
motley  company  indeed  !  People  of  all  ages,  degrees,  and 
nationalities.  A  listener  could  catch  half  a  dozen  langua- 
ges in  a  breath,  and  in  some  of  the  languages  as  many  dia- 
lects. Here  were  cockneys  abusing  their  h's  and  w's  and 
Yankees  ridiculing  the  vulgarism  in  fearful  nasal  drawls ; 
young  Englishmen  of  breeding  with  baggy  clothes  and  easy 
manners;  youths  from  Harvard  in  closer  guise,  and  that 
peculiar  precision  of  speech  and  manner  which  tells  uner- 
ringly of  the  "Western  "  modern  Athens."  Jewish  bankers 
and  money  changers,  with  that  air,  the  mixture  of  obse- 
quiousness and  insolence,  which  suggests  the  memory  of 
oppression  blended  with  a  conviction  of  the  power  of 
money.  Hard  American  faces  with  vulgar  mouths,  tufted 
chins,  and  cunning  expression ;  fat  British  faces  with 
greasy  mouths,  shaven  chins,  and  no  expression  at  all. 
Here  a  Southern  planter,  there  a  Manchester  manufacturer. 
One  or  two  New  York  lawyers,  a  pair  of  drink-soaked 
Californians,  a  "literary  man"  from  Boston,  and  the  Eev. 
Dr.  Somebody  going  back  to  his  flock  rather  the  better  of  his 
bronchitis.  There  is  Slymer,  who  always  gets  his  passage 
for  nothing  by  being  a  "  Bearer  of  Dispatches."  Just  at 
present  he  is  on  confidential  terms  with  Sprigg,  corres- 
pondent of  the  New  York  Crier^  touching  a  laudatory 
notice  of  him,  Slymer,  which  is  to  appear  the  day  after  the 
Assyria  arrives  at  New  York.  That  man  with  the  yellow 
waistcoat,  brick-colored  face,  and  moustache  dyed  jet  black, 
is  McSwindle,  Common  Councilman  of  the  Empire  City, 
returning  from  a  visit  to  his  friends  in  the  green  island. 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  7 

He  used  to  black  boots  in  Sackville  street  thirty  years  ago, 
but  has  thriven  apace  in  the  land  of  liberty.  The  stout 
but  gorgeous  lady  sitting  by  the  long  boat  with  the  two 
handsome  girls,  is  Mrs.  General  Yon  Donk,  and  they  are 
her  daughters ;  this  is  their  fifth  passage  this  year  across 
the  ocean.  Mrs.  Greneral  Von  Donk  made  her  first  appear- 
ance in  the  business  world  in  the  capacity  of  a  laundress. 
She  washed  shirts  for  Corporal  Von  Donk  of  the  Bowery 
Fencibles  and  a  rising  corner  grocery.  After  all  it  was 
owing  to  her  tact  and  management  that  he  got  on  in  life, 
so  it  was  not  such  a  bad  alliance  for  Von  Donk  as  people 
at  first  declared.  Few  remember  those  old  times  now. 
They  are  eclipsed  by  the  glories  of  the  house  in  Fifth 
Avenue,  the  beauties  of  Zerlina  and  Violetta,  the  vanities 
and  extravagance  of  Mr.  Gossamer  Von  Donk,  and  the 
honors,  political  and  military,  of  the  stalwart  General. 
All  the  family  needs  now  is  an  infusion  of  good  blood,  and 
'materfamilias  knows  it  as  well  as  we.  That  indeed  is  the 
secret  object  of  all  her  shuttlecock  bounds  and  rebounds 
over  land  and  sea.  She  wants  an  Englishman  with  a  good 
name,  or  a  continental  with  a  title.  You  will  find  her 
hunting  for  him  one  week  at  the  Hotel  Bedford,  the  next  at 
Morley's.  Last  week  shopping  in  Regent  street,  this  week 
on  board  the  Assyria^  she  will  pass  a  month  or  so  in  New 
York,  Newport,  and  Saratoga,  and  be  ofi"  for  Europe  again 
in  October. 

Such  were  some  of  the  many  curious  personages  whose 
presence  lent  variety  and  clatter  to  the  decks  of  the  huge 
packet.  But  to  find  those  in  whom  we  have  a  greater 
interest,  and  whose  future  chiefly  concerns  us,  we  must  go 
further  off  than  we  have  yet  ventured  and  seek  them  in 
a  group  close  to  the  taffrail. 

Conspicuous  in  a  knot  of  persons  several  of  whom  were 
noticeable  enough,  sat,  bareheaded,  a  noble-looking  man  of 
some  sixty  years  of  age.  His  hair  and  beard  worn  full  and 
naturally,  were  snowy  white,  suggesting  greater  age  than 
did  the  healthful  ruddy  cheek,  and  almost  vmwrinkled 
brow.     His  figure  too,  although  spare,  was  erect  and  mus- 


8  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

cular,  and,  when  he  rose,  towered  some  inches  above  the 
middle  height.  He  wore  clothes  of  a  dark  color  which 
discovered  more  attention  to  symmetry  in  style  and  cut 
than  is  usual  at  the  age  of  the  wearer,  and  a  spotless  cam- 
bric cravat  was  loosely,  but  with  gentlemanly  neatness, 
arranged  about  his  throat.  Ilis  bearing  and  manners 
^exhibited  that  mingling  of  dignity  and  graciousness  which 
it  is  common  in  these  brusque  times  to  attriljute  to  "  gen- 
tlemen of  the  old  school,"  and  there  was  a  sweetness  of  ex- 
pression in  the  benignant  countenance  which  rarely, — very 
rarely,  gave  way  to  a  passing  trace  of  anxiety  and  pain. 
Such  was  Oliver  Vernon,  who,  had  he  remained  in  his 
native  country,  might  by  this  have  been  one  of  the  fore- 
most of  England's  legislators  and  sages,  but  who  after  his 
thirty  years  in  America  was  content  with  his  books,  his 
artistic  tastes,  his  few  friends,  and  the  ample  fortune  which 
successful  speculation  had  early  enabled  him  to  amass. 
Why  he  had  left  home  and  society  which  his  education 
and  position  unquestionably  qualified  him  to  enjoy  and  to 
adorn,  none  knew,  even  of  his  own  family,  and  few  ven- 
tured to  inquire;  for,  gentle  and  conciliatory  when  dis- 
cussing other  subjects,  he  became  haughty  and  reticent  on 
allusion  to  this ;  so  that  whoever  through  chance  or 
curiosity  might  question  him  thereon  was  pretty  certain 
not  to  repeat  the  experiment  for  the  future. 

On  the  right  and  left  of  Mr.  Vernon  were  seated  two 
young  ladies,  respectively  his  daughter  and  ward,  whose 
presence  supplied  his  reason  for  lately  taking  the  step 
which,  in  former  years,  he  had  resolved  always  to  avoid — 
he  had  re-visited  Europe.  Postponing  from  time  to  time 
the  pleasure  they  were  ever  soliciting,  and  which  he  could 
scarcely  with  generosity  refuse,  he  had,  some  fifteen  months 
before,  started  from  their  lovely  home  on  the  banks  of  the 
Hudson,  and,  embarking  from  the  great  city  at  its  mouth, 
aiforded  the  happy  girls  that  opportunity  for  viewing  the 
wonders  of  the  old  world  to  which  they  had  so  long  looked 
forward  with  joyous  anticipation.  An  elderly  woman  who 
had   nursed    his    child, — image   and  sole    legacy   of  the 


.     BEFORE   THE   STORM.  9 

wife  who  had  died  in  giving  her  birth, — a  person  more 
companion  than  servant, — constituted  the  only  attendant 
of  the  little  party,  which,  after  its  bright  holiday  of  travel 
and  sight-seeing,  was  now  flying  over  the  waters  toward 
home  once  again. 

Elinor  Grazebrook  and  Grace  Yernon  were  as  unlike  as 
two  people  who  had  so  much  in  sympathy  and  in  common 
could  well  be.  The  former,  who  at  this  time  had  seen 
some  two  and  twenty  summers,  knew,  up  to  her  eighteenth, 
little  but  sorrow  and  mortification.  She  was  the  daughter 
of  an  extremely  clever  but  delicately  organized  and  sen- 
sitive man,  who,  disappointed  in  life,  had  taken  incurably 
to  drink  before  Elinor  was  born.  His  wife,  a  beautiful  but 
wilful  woman,  whom  a  stronger  head  and  firmer  heart  than 
Grazebrook's  could  have  moulded  into  everything  lovable 
and  noble,  exasperated  by  the  excesses  and  ill  treatment  of 
a  dozen  years,  fled  in  an  evil  hour  with  one  Kirkwood,  her 
husband's  former  partner  at  the  bar.  Five  years  after,  she 
was  deserted  in  turn,  her  paramour  making  his  way  to 
California.  The  unhappy  woman  sought  her  husband  to 
beseech  his  forgiveness  and  to  beg  to  be  allowed  to  look 
once  more  on  her  child,  but  Grazebrook  had  died  in 
delirium  tremens  some  days  before.  In  all  his  madness,  he 
had  saved  a  few  thousands  by  way  of  portion  for  poor 
Elinor,  whom  he  tenderly  loved,  but  whose  life  his  habits 
had  made  wretchedly  miserable.  Shortly  before  his  death, 
conscious  that  it  would  not  be  long  deferred,  he  had  im- 
plored Oliver  Vernon  as  a  friend  of  earlier  and  happier 
years,. to  take  charge  of  the  girl,  and  to  keep  her  as  far 
as  possible  from  contact  with  or  knowledge  of  her  lost 
mother.  Vernon  willingly  undertook  the  trust,  although 
naturally  anxious  as  regarded  the  legal  aspect  of  the  latter 
injunction.  Five  or  six  years  rolled  by,  however,  and 
no  one  could  be  found  who  had  seen  or  heard  of  Mary 
Grazebrook,  since  the  day  she  learned  of  her  husband's 
death.  Those  interested  agreed  therefore  with  Vernon's 
conviction  that  she  must  be  dead. 

The  bitter  experience  which  this  brief  history  so  readily 


10  dangerfield's  rest;  or, 

suggests  had  left  its  marks  on  Elinor's  character  rather 
than  on  her  person.  Singularly  sensitive  in  reality,  she 
was  generally  considered  cold  and  impassive.  Keenly 
alive  to  every  impression  or  incident  of  either  exterior  or 
interior  life,  she  appeared  indifferent  alike  to  each  and  all. 
She  had  been  so  shocked  and  humiliated  by  the  sad  occur- 
rences and  soul-depressing  atmosphere  of  her  childhood, 
that  the  poor  young  spirit  sought  the  refuge  which  natural 
pride  afforded  in  a  reticence  and  repose  which  amounted  to 
hauteur.  The  peculiar  character  of  her  beauty  served  to 
heighten  the  impression  which  was  conveyed  by  her  man- 
ner. Tall  and  slight,  she  would  have  appeared  too  thin, 
but  for  the  proportions  of  a  full  and  exquisitely  moulded 
bust.  Her  features  would  have  been  Grecian  but  for  the 
smallest  disposition  to  the  aquiline  in  the  delicate  nose. 
The  lips  might  have  been  called  a  thought  too  full,  but  the 
suggestion  was  banished  by  that  peculiar  stamp  of  self- 
control  which  gives  the  mouth  in  intellect  what  it  takes  from 
it  in  sensuality.  The  skin  was  singularly  fair,  yet  the  eyes, 
almost  black  in  fact,  appeared  quite  so  from  the  long  dark 
fringes  which  surrounded  them.  The  hair  of  a  rich  changing 
brown,  had  the  sunny  warmth  of  tone  so  much  admired  by 
painters,  and,  being  lighter  beneath,  looked  absolutely  blonde 
from  the  front,  because  dressed  in  the  manner  made 
fashionable  by  the  Empress  Eugdnie.  Elinor's  hands,  with- 
out being  diminutive,  were  of  the  true  patrician  mould, 
and  the  feet  with  their  slender  outline  and  arching  insteps 
were  pretty  enough  to  make  one  grateful  to  the  friendly 
breeze  which  now  and  again  disturbed  the  young  lady's 
ample  draperies. 

Grace  Vernon  had  the  air  and  manner  common  to  human 
beings  as  well  as  animals  who  have  never  been  hurt  and 
have  never  been  frightened.  Accustomed  from  infancy  to 
be  loved  and  cherished  by  all  who  surrounded  her,  she 
had  no  thought  of  harm  from  any  living  thing.  Not  even 
that  sorrow  which  even  the  privileged  and  opulent  cannot 
escape — the  death  of  those  dearest  to  them — had  been  hers, 
for  her  mother's  last  hour  was  the  daughter's  first,  and  she 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  11 

had  never  lost  a  friend.  Her  life  had  passed  in  sailing 
over  summer  seas  beneath  cloudless  skies,  and  with  as 
little  check  or  obstacle  as  the  noble  ship  now  met  which 
bounded  under  her  feet.  Guileless  and  unsuspecting,  often 
giddy  and  unthinking,  Grace  was  yet  thoroughly  unselfish. 
She  had  inherited  from  her  father  a  portion  not  only  of  his 
large  humanity,  but  much  of  his  clear  perception  of  right 
and  justice,  which  goes  so  far  to  ennoble  as  well  as  to  give 
symmetry  to  character.  Passionately  attached  to  her  fatlier 
she  warmly  sympathized  in  his  views  and  opinions,  which, 
always  philanthropic,  were  sometimes  so  far  in  advance  of 
the  huckstering  utilitarianism  of  the  day  as  to  be  called 
"  extreme"  and  "  radical."  Deprived  of  a  mother,  a  share 
of  the  love  which  would  have  been  hers  had  fallen  to  the 
lot  of  her  nurse,  Mercy  Tredwell,  or,  more  commonly, 
"  Aunt  Mercy,"  a  worthy  and  kind-hearted  woman,  the 
widow  of  a  small  farmer  in  Western  Massachusetts.  Grace 
had  hailed  with  delight  the  time  which  brought  Elinor 
Grazebrook  under  her  father's  guardianship,  and  the  time 
which  had  elapsed  since  that  memorable  epoch  had  ripened 
her  girlish  pleasure  into  a  more  than  sisterly  affection.  We 
have  said  the  two  were  unlike  enough,  and  indeed  the 
external  difference  was  as  marked  as  that  of  their  charac- 
ters. Shorter  than  the  stately  Elisor,  Grace  had  scarcely  a 
feature  which  could  be  called  regular,  and  yet  was  unde- 
niably pretty.  Her  figure  was  charming,  her  eyes  of  a 
lovely  blue,  and  a  profusion  of  nut-brown  hair  surrounded 
a  face  which  wreathed  into  a  smile  of  quite  bewitching 
sweetness.  Then  she  had  radiantly  white  teeth,  a  beauty 
the  laughing  lips  did  not  fail  to  disclose. 

Both  ladies  wore  round  hats  of  the  nondescript  patterns 
then  coming  in  vogue,  and  were  dressed  in  gauzy,  sum- 
mery fabrics  of  the  abundant  fulness  and  matching  rib- 
ands which  the  season  and  the  fashion  prescribed. 

The  group  formed  by  the  three  persons  we  have  described 
was  remarkable  enough  to  justify  its  apparent  attrac- 
tion, for  at  the  moment  a  number  of  gentlemen  had 
gathered  around  it,  partly  joining  in,  and  partly  listening 


12  dangerfield's  rest;  or, 

to  a  conversation  whose  progress  was  suddenly  interrupted 
by  an  exclamation  which  turned  all  eyes  toward  the 
mizen  cross-trees,  where  was  perched  a  young  gentleman 
balancing  a  spy-glass  nearly  as  long  as  himself : — 

"  What  d'ye  make  of  her,  Mr.  Middleton  ?"  cried  Captain 
Stanchion,  interrupting  his  quarter-deck  walk. 

"Large  screw,  sir,  three  points  on  the  weather-bow,  and 
bearing  straight  down  on  us,"  replied  the  stripling. 

"  Ay,  ay.  Get  out  your  bunting,  Mr.  Edwards,  and  the 
private  signal.  We  may  as  well  be  reported.  Too  near 
Yankee  land  for  a  West-India  man.  News  from  New 
York,  gentlemen,"  continued  the  Captain,  as  he  joined  the 
party  of  our  friends  astern. 

"How  much  later,  Captain  Stanchion,"  inquired  Mr. 
Vernon,  "  than  what  we  have  ?" 

"  About  fifteen  days,  sir.  We  sailed  on  the  eighteenth, 
our  friend  yonder  has  had  western  winds,  and  left,  perhaps, 
but  a  day  earlier.  Our  latest  dates  from  America  were  up 
to  the  second." 

"  Couldn't  we  stop  and  get  some  papers  ?"  asked  Sprigg 
coming  up  anxiously. 

The  Captain  shook  his  head.  "  We  carry  her  Majesty's 
mails,  sir,  which  stop  for  no  one." 

"  Never  mind,  SpriggJ'  said  Slymer,  "  there's  only  a  week 
longer,  and  if  the  Eepublic  has  gone  down,  I  dare  say  we 
shall  hear  of  it  through  the  trumpet." 

"  No  fear  o'  that,  sir,"  remarked  McSwindle  oracularly  ; 
"  the  Great  Eepublic  will  outlast  your  time  and  mine." 

"The  Great  Eepublic  is  a  failure,"  lisped  Gossamer 
Yon  Donk  sotto  voce:  "why,  do  you  know,  Mr.  Eliot,  no 
gentleman  can  even  vote  now  in  New  York  ?  A  man 
of  decent  family  with  a  whole  coat  on  his  back  can't  get 
near  the  polls  for  the  rowdies  and  Irish." 

"  Is  it  true,  Mr.  Vernon,"  asked  Eliot,  a  young  English- 
man of  liberal  views,  and  crossing  the  Atlantic  for  the  first 
time,  "  is  it  true  that  your  universal  suffrage  works  so 
badly  ?" 

"  I  fear,"  said  Yernon  gravely,  "  that  the  system  has  many 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  13 

drawbacks.  If  things  could  have  remained  as  they  were 
during  the  first  thirty  years  of  the  republic  it  would  have 
answered  admirably.  The  young  nation  had  passed  through 
a  fearful  ordeal,  and  emerged  purified  and  elevated.  Its 
founders  contemplated  that  universal  education  should 
accompany  universal  suffrage,  and  that  men  should  thus 
be  made  fit  for  the  privilege  before  they  came  to  enjoy  it. 
But  the  vast  and  unforeseen  material  prosperity  which 
ensued  brought  also  the  seeds  of  corruption  and  decay. 
An  immigration  on  a  colossal  scale  was  stimulated,  which 
consisted  to  a  great  extent  of  the  most  ignorant  classes  of 
foreign  populations.  These  classes,  however  well  meaning, 
could  not  be  expected  to  learn  in  a  day  that  democracy 
does  not  mean  licentiousness  and  disorder.  Often  ill 
treated  in  their  native  land,  they  were  unused  to  liberty, 
and  naturally  knew  not  how  to  employ  it." 

"But  surely,"  said  Eliot,  "the  native  population  must 
outnumber  the  foreign  and  be  able  always  to  control 
it." 

"  Outnumber,  yes  ;  control,  no ;  for  in  the  natural  divisions 
of  part}'-,  the  foreign  element  would  hold  the  balance  of 
power,  and  be  pretty  sure  to  consult  its  predilections  by 
going  on  the  wrong  side." 

"Yet,  after  all,"  reasoned  Eliot,  "why  should  they  go 
on  the  wrong  side  ?  why  not  in  their  ignorance  stumble  on 
the  right  one  ?" 

"  Ah,"  replied  Vernon,  "  their  ignorance  does  not  go  so 
far  as  that.  The  people  who  emigrate  to  America, — and 
especially  those  from  the  British  Islands, — either  have 
been,  or  fancy  themselves  to  have  been,  oppressed  by  law 
and  society  in  their  own  countries.  They  cherish,  therefore, 
a  hatred  for  all  law  which  seeks  to  control  them,  a  dislike 
of  all  society  beyond  their  own  level.  They  uniformly 
mistake  political  for  social  equality,  or  at  least  they  insist 
on  putting  that  construction  on  the  dogma  which  is  only 
true  as  expressing  the  equality  of  all  men  in  political 
and  judicial  rights.  Thus  they  always  sympathize  with 
whatever  is  levelling   and  whatever  is   insurrectionary, 


14  DANGERFIELD'S   rest  ;    OR 

quite  regardless  whether  the  rights  of  others  are  invaded 
or  destroyed  by  such  processes  or  not." 

"  Yet  the  United  States  would  never  have  reached  their 
present  position  without  the  influx  of  foreign  labor." 

"  Probably  not,  and  foreign  labor  has  been  glad  of  the 
chance  to  be  very  well  paid  and  very  well  fed.  But  Europe 
has  also  been  a  gainer — at  least  in  a  material  sense." 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  Because  the  manufacturing  interest  is  a  principal  source 
of  strength  in  Western  Europe — emphatically  so  in  Eng- 
land. The  manufacturing  interest  depends  on  the  cotton 
supply,  which  depends  on  Slavery.  Now  the  foreign 
population  of  America — at  least,  and  beyond  dispute,  the 
very  large  fraction  of  it  from  the  British  Islands — has  been 
and  is,  the  staunch  supporter  of  all  measures  which  aim  at 
the  perpetuation  and  extension  of  human  bondage." 

"  But  is  not  this  very  anomalous — the  oppressed  becom- 
ing the  advocates  of  oppression?" 

"  Anomalous  indeed,  but  so  it  is.  The  nature  of  man, 
once  warped  and  misdirected,  does  not  recover  itself,  as  a 
rule,  by  processes  much  more  rapid  than  the  vitiating  ones 
have  been.  There  are  of  course  noble  exceptions,  but 
most  Irishmen  and  most  Jews  are  friendly  to  the  Institution 
of  Slavery.  The  idea  that  a  race  or  class  may  be  syste- 
matically oppressed  does  not  appear  disagreeable  to  them, 
provided  that  class  is  not  their  own.  Such  people  have  not 
yet  grown  sufficiently  to  be  fit  for  liberty  in  our  extended 
sense  : — any  more  than  the  negro  would  be  fit  for  freedom, 
in  a  similar  sense,  were  he  emancipated  to-day.  The 
regeneration  should  be  gradual  in  both  cases." 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  the  interest 
and  bustle  occasioned  by  the  approaching  steamer — a 
diversion  highly  satisfactory  to  the  ladies,  who  noticed 
with  feminine  quickness  that  McSwindle  had  overheard 
portions  of  Mr.  Vernon's  remarks,  and  that  the  growing 
truculence  of  his  expression  boded  some  unpleasantness ; 
and,  indeed,  his  mental  question  of  "  An  d'ye  mean  to 
compare  us  to  nagurs?"  was  at  the  very  point  of  finding 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  15 

expression  wlien  a  general  movement  to  the  larboard  side 
of  the  quarterdeck  constrained  him  to  change  his  position 
and  to  swallow  his  indignation. 

The  stranger,  who  was  now  scarcely  half  a  mile  distant, 
was  a  large  screw  steamer,  heavily  sparred,  and  as  neat 
about  her  upper  works  as  a  man-of-war.  She  had  been 
coming  on  under  full  sail,  although  necessarily  close- 
hauled.  Now,  however,  she  had  swung  round  her  main- 
topsail,  which  was  backed  against  the  mast,  and  stopped 
her  screw.  Each  moment  lessened  the  distance  between 
the  vessels,  as  the  stranger  lay  almost  directly  in  the  course 
of  the  Assyria.  The  noble  standard  of  England  was  flying 
from  the  peak  of  both,  and  the  deck  of  each  was  crowded 
with  people  scanning  the  other  with  interest  and  curiosity. 
It  could  now  be  seen  that  men  were  at  work  at  the 
port-quarter-davits  of  the  screw,  and  that  they  were  in  the 
act  of  lowering  a  boat. 

Mr.  Edwards  came  up  to  Captain  Stanchion  and 
touched  his  cap.  "  They  are  going  to  try  and  board  us, 
sir." 

"  I  know,"  said  the  Captain  discontentedly,  "  we  can't 
stop,  but  you  may  slow  the  engines,  Mr.  Edwards ;  there's 
no  sea,  and  they  can  easily  get  a  line  aboard." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir." 

And  in  a  few  moments  the  huge  mass  was  moving  at  a 
quarter  of  her  previous  rate.  By  this  time  the  stranger's 
boat  was  in  the  water,  and  four  stout  fellows  were  pulling 
the  few  strokes  needed  to  place  her  in  tte  track  of  the 
Assyria.  Meanwhile  a  process  of  mutual  cross-examina- 
tion was  in  progress  from  the  two  quarter-decks,  and 
the  people  of  the  latter  craft  were  acquainted  that  the 
screw  was  the  steamship  StromboU  from  New  York  on  the 
17th  ultimo  and  bound  for  Liverpool.  Also  that  a  gen- 
tleman who  was  desirous  to  retrace  his  journey  was  in  the 
approaching  boat.  A  little  shouting  and  clattering  of 
ropes,  an  exchange  of  newspapers  and  messages,  and  the 
passengers  of  the  Assyria  saw  the  frail  craft  dancing  in 
iheir  wake.     At  the  same  moment  a  couple  of  black  bags 


16  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

came  up  over  the  side,  and  immediately  afterward  leaped 
lightly  over  the  bulwark— Mr.  Stephen  Dangerfield. 

A  young  man  of  thirty,  very  much  sunburnt,  with  dark 
flashing  eyes  and  snow-white  teeth.  A  face  and  figure  fit 
to  be  the  model  for  an  Apollo  in  every  respect  of  shape  and 
proportion,  except  perhaps  a  trifle  too  much  weight  about 
the  shoulders.  He  was  dressed  in  a  loose  suit  of  white 
flannel,  and  wore  a  straw  hat  which  he  removed  as  his  foot 
touched  the  deck.  There  was  in  his  whole  manner  that 
union  of  careless  ea-se  with  perfectly  good  breeding,  which 
is  so  difiicult  to  simulate,  and  which  springs  so  frequently 
from  good  blood  which  has  become  familiarized  with 
danger. 

"  Good  evening,  Captain  Stanchion,"  cried  the  new  comer 
gaily  ;  "  I  hope  you  will  give  me  a  welcome  and  a  berth, 
though  I  do  come  so  unexpectedly." 

"  As  I  live,  Mr.  Dangerfield,"  exclaimed  the  sailor,  "you 
are  the  last  man  I  would  have  thought  to  see  this  day ! 
Welcome  ?  Yes,  and  a  hearty  one !  though  it  ts  a  little 
unusual." 

"  Oh,  I'll  make  it  all  right  with  Mr.  C ,"  laughed  the 

young  man.  "  I  fear,"  he  added,  turning  with  graceful  cour- 
tesy toward  the  groups  of  passengers,  "  I  fear  I  am  but  a 
stranger  here." 

"Not  quite  so  to  me,  Mr.  Stephen  Dangerfield,"  said 
Oliver  Vernon,  coming  forward  with  his  highly  bred  air, 
"  at  least  your  father  was  not,  though  you  were  but  a  curly- 
headed  boy  when  I  saw  you  last." 

The  other  blushed  sliglitly.  "  You  mean  before  I  ran 
away  and  went  to  sea.  I  remember  you,  sir,  although,  if 
you  are  Mr.  Vernon,  you  too  are  changed  in  these  fifteen 
years." 

"And  for  the  better,  I  hope,"  said  the  old  gentleman 
cheerfully.  "  But  come,  I  must  claim  a  neighbor's  privi- 
lege." So  saying,  he  led  the  young  man,  nothing  loth, 
to  the  charmed  circle  whose  central  attractions  were  the 
two  beautiful  girls  in  his  charge. 

And  so  meet  these  people  who  but  for  a  trivial  accident 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  17 

had  never  met,  and  whose  influence  on  each  other's  future 
was  to  be  so  momentous.  The  evening's  conversation  was 
no  doubt  pleasant  enough  to  all  engaged,  and  it  was 
remarkably  so  to  Mr.  Stephen  Dangerfield.  But  it  did 
not  affect  him  to  that  degree  as  to  make  him  forget,  on 
retiring  to  his  state-room  for  the  night,  to  carefully  peruse 
two  papers,  one  written,  one  printed, — and  which  he  had 
onlj'^  read  some  fifty  times  during  the  past  four  days.  After 
this  final  perusal  he  carefully  folded  and  placed  them  in  a 
pocket-book,  which  again  he  placed  under  his  pillow.  The 
first  was  a  telegraphic  dispatch  and  ran  thus  : 

"Philadelphia,  August  11. 

"  Mr.  Stephen  Dangerfield,  Clarendon  Hotel,  N.  Y. 
Something  wrong.     Do  not  sail. 

"Hawk." 

The  other  was  a  slip  from  a  New  York  paper  containing 
an  advertisement  under  the  head  of  "  Personal,"  and  which 
was  to  this  effect : 

"  K.  did  not  sail  in  the  A. — Has  gone  north  to  The  Rest." 


•  CHAPTER  n. 

i^  T  HOPE  you  will  like  America,"  said  Grrace  Yernon  to 
X  Robert  Eliot,  who  was  standing  by  her  side  and  gazing 
dreamily  over  the  sparkling  waters  before  them.  "  That 
is,  I  don't  mean  Niagara,  the  Great  Lakes,  the  beautiful 
scenery,  and  all  that ;  of  course  everybody  must  like  or 
admire  them;  but  I  hope  you  won't  find  the  people  so 
disagreeable  as  most  of  your  countrymen  who  write  books 
do.  They  always  appear  to  me  to  select  the  very  worst 
types  they  may  happen  to  meet,  and  then  serve  them  up  as 
fair  average  specimens  of  their  class." 

It  was  just  after  sunrise  on  the  third  morning  succeed- 
ing the  events  described  in  the  last  chapter.  A  sofb 
air  from   the  south   distended  the  sails,  being  just  free 


18  dangeefield's  rest;  or 

enough  to  allow  the  steamship  to  show  canvas  and  hold 
her  course.  A  balmy  moisture  pervaded  the  atmosphere, 
and  the  sun  was  shimmering  through  fleecy,  broken  cloud- 
banks,  which  it  suffused  with  gorgeous  coloring.  A  cool 
grey  yet  lingered  on  the  western  horizon,  where  the 
twinkle  of  the  last  star  was  expiring  for  the  day.  The 
newly  washed  decks  were  redolent  of  freshness  and  clean- 
liness. Every  rope  was  coiled  neatly  in  its  place,  the 
running  gear  all  taut  and  ship-shape  as  in  a  man-of-war, 
and  each  bit  of  metal  brightly  polished.  The  sea  was 
covered  with  crisp  and  lively  little  waves,  which,  breaking 
each  other  at  right  angles,  betrayed  a  recent  change  of 
wind.  The  surface  was  too  much  ruffled  to  see  the  bril- 
liant dolphins  which  were  running  their  fantastic  races 
alongside ;  but  the  porpoises  were  gambolling  about  in 
myriads,  and,  by  their  ceaseless  leaping  and  popping  their 
black  snouts  above  the  water,  lent  life  and  variety  to  the 
scene. 

The  young  people  had  left  their  berths  betimes  to  enjoy 
a  period  of  the  day  especially  gratefal  in  warm  weather 
at  sea,  and  when,  as  they  learned  by  experience,  the  attrac- 
tions of*the  quarter-deck  were  enhanced  by  its  comparative 
desertion.  There  were  indeed  only  three  other  persons 
visible  on  deck  at  the  present  time,  save  one  of  those  ru|[ged 
quarter-masters  who  lose  all  individuality  in  their  perpetual 
presence.  Elinor  Grazebrook  in  her  snowy  morning  dress, 
was  seated  in  statuesque  contemplation  of  the  view  ;  Aunt 
Mercy  was  illustrating  her  New  England  thrift  by  knitting 
vigorously  at  some  unknown  utility ;  and  Mr.  Stephen 
Dangerficld  was  pacing  slowly  up  and  down,  peeling  an 
orange  and  debating  within  himself,  whether,  on  finishing 
the  operation,  he  should  offer  the  fruit  to  Grace  or  Elinor. 

"  Most  travellers  who  make  books  find  it  to  their  account 
to  be  censorious,"  replied  Eliot.  "  They  are  beset  by  the 
necessity  to  amuse,  and  it  is  more  piquant  to  ridicule  than 
to  extol.  Scribbling  Frenchmen  abuse  England,  scribbling 
Englishmen  abuse  France ;  both  have  the  same  temptation 
and  both  fall  into  it ;  nothing  which  is  really  worthy  or 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  19 

excellent,  North  or  South  of  the  Channel,  is  affected  by 
either." 

"Ah,"  cried  the  young  lady,  "because  your  channel 
is  so  narrow.  Misrepresentation  is  sooner  corrected  when 
people  are  near.  But  it  is  different  across  this  wide 
Atlantic !" 

"  I  grant  the  difference ;  but  is  it  not  balanced  by  our 
speaking  the  same  language  on  either  side  ?" 

"  That  increases  the  facility  for  recrimination." 

"  But  also  that  for  explanation,  which  sooner  or  later 
must  always  be  heard." 

"  Well,"  reasoned  Grace,  "  the  newspapers  are,  I  sup- 
pose, the  principal  vehicles  for  'explanation'  between 
England  and  America  ;  you  surely  don't  think  they  tend  to 
produce  good  feeling  between  the  two  countries,  do  you  ?" 

"  Perhaps  not,  for  the  time  being,"  answered  Eliot,  "  and 
for  the  same  reason  that  the  book-makers  do  not.  They 
must  have  '  smart'  and  '  spicy'  articles.  The  temptation 
is  strong  to  tickle  the  worst  prejudices  of  the  worst  class  of 
their  audience,  and  they  do  so.  But  this  must  come  to  an 
end.  The  animus  and  the  profligacy  are  alike  detected  at 
least,  and  the  influence  of  the  offender  must  wane  in  pro- 
portion. All  the  brilliant  flummery  of  the  Saturday  Re- 
view^ for  example,  will  not  save  its  credit  when  the  know- 
ledge is  notorious  of  its  contempt  for  common  honesty, 
and  that  it  habitually  makes  the  truth  subservient  to  an 
epigram." 

"  Nothing  can  be  worse  than  our  Press,"  said  Stephen 
Dangerfield,  pausing  in  his  walk  and  solving  his  doubts 
about  the  orange  by  dividing  it  neatly  into  halves  ;  "yours 
is  for  the  most  part  conducted  by  gentlemen  who  can, 
at  least  when  they  like,  show  culture  and  refinement. 
With  us  these  are  the  exceptions,  the  general  rule  all 
the  other  way.  If,  as  Mr.  Vernon  says,  our  foreign  popula- 
tion is  brutal  enough  when  it  comes  to  us,  the  J^ew  York 
Crier  and  the  New  York  Yahoo  do  all  they  can  to  keep  it  so.'' 
"  I  suppose,"  remarked  Eliot,  "  that  the  demand,  as  usual, 
induces  the  supply.     Your   newspapers    are  cheap   and 


20  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

address  themselves  to  a  higbly  miscellaneous  body  of 
readers ;  and,  like  the  poor  players,  they  '  who  live  to 
please  must  please  to  live.'  " 

"  Ay,  but  the  whole  body  of  our  people  are  libelled  by 
these  prints  in  so  far  as  European  opinion  accepts  them  as 
exponents  of  American  culture,  American  temper,  and 
American  common-sense.  The  fact  is,  no  sea-port  town 
filled  with  mere  money-getters  and  constantly  reinforced 
with  unruly  foreigners,  supplies  the  best  specimens  of 
either.  Boston  is  the  best  of  the  bunch,  with  all  its  pre- 
judices and  provincialisms,  and  is  only  so  because  the 
deteriorating  elements  are  less  potent  or  better  checked 
there  than  elsewhere." 

"  But,  granting  the  truth  of  your  hypothesis,  it  must  be 
well  known  to  the  more  intelligent  classes  of  your  popula- 
tion, and  the  presses  you  name  boast  large  circulations 
in  every  rank  of  the  community." 

"To  be  sure  it  is  well  known;  and  in  private  it  is 
universally  admitted  and  deprecated ;  yet  no  one  seeks  to 
correct  the  evil.  It  is  everybody's  business  and  therefore 
nobody's.  People  are  all  too  busy  or  too  indifferent.  Of 
course  they  have  large  circulations ;  every  one  wants  to 
see  the  news,  and  the  New  York  Press  exhibits  more 
energy  and  enterprise  than  any  in  the  world  in  this  respect." 

"  If  they  have  circulation,  they  should  have  influence." 

"  Just  the  other  way  with  us, — at  least  so  far  as  the 
country  at  large  is  concerned.  The  New  York  papers 
which  have  the  largest  city  circulation  in  proportion  to 
their  total  issue,  carry  the  least  weight  with  intelligent 
people." 

"  A  singular  state  of  things  truly." 

"You  will  find  it  to  exist.  It  is  one  of  the  indirect 
consequences  of  permitting  immigrants  to  linger  on  the  sea- 
board, instead  of  taking  them  West  and  giving  them  plenty 
of  land.  We  keep  them  and  their  children  in  the  filthy 
tenement  streets  of  Eastern  cities  instead  of  sending  them 
to  the  fresh  and  teeming  Western  prairies.  We  keep  them 
where  they  are  morally  certain  to  become  the  worst  possible 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  21 

citizens,  instead  of  placing  them  where  they  would  be 
equally  sure  to  grow  into  very  good  ones." 

"  And  this  is  susceptible  of  demonstration  ?" 

"Unquestionably.  It  can  be  tested  by,  among  other 
things,  the  evidence  of  more  than  one  of  the  senses.  An 
average  comparison  of  the  condition  of  the  people  from 
the  two  nationalities  which  have  supplied  our  principal 
accessions  these  twenty  years  past,  furnishes  a  tolerable 
illustration." 

"  Don't  you  think,  Mr.  Eliot,"  cried  Grace  Vernon 
laughingly,  "  that  if  all  these  guests  of  ours,  to  whom  we 
open  our  doors  so  hospitably,  are  given  the  right  to  vote, — 
don't  you  think  that  American  women — or  at  all  events 
educated  women — ought  to  have  the  same  privilege?" 

"You  have  me  at  advantage.  Miss  Vernon,"  returned 
Eliot,  with  an  admiring  gaze,  which  included  both  the 
lovely  girls  before  him ;  "  who  could  see  such  specimens  of 
your  countrywomen  as  I  have,  and  not  reply  in  the 
affirmative?" 

"  No,  no,"  exclaimed  Grace,  while  a  bright  blush  rose  to 
her  cheeks,  "you  mustn't  take  refuge  in  compliments;  I 
demand  a  serious  reply." 

"The  question  is  a  very  delicate  one,  my  dear  Miss 
Vernon, — so  delicate,  that  I  rejoice  my  good  angels  relieve 
me,  and  send  one  so  much  more  competent  in  the  person 
of  your  papa  to  decide  it." 

Oliver  Vernon  came  on  deck  and  advanced  toward  the 
party.  His  noble  face  was  beaming  with  a  sweet  and 
benignant  smile.  Those  who  knew  him  best  prized  that 
smile  and  loved  him  better  each  time  they  saw  it;  but 
they  would  perchance  have  prized  it  more  had  they  known 
it  precisely  for  what  it  was — the  outward  sign  and  expres- 
sion of  a  spiritual  growth,  which  a  generous  heart  and  a 
large  comprehensive  nature  had  fostered  and  nurtured  in 
the  teeth  of  circumstances  which  would  have  made  most 
men  misanthropes  and  some  men  criminals. 

Oliver  Vernon  quitted  his  native  land  under  the  stigma, 
and   to  escape  the  consequences,  of  a  disgraceful  crime 


22  daxgerfield's  rest;  or 

committed  thirty  years  before.  The  younger  son  of  an 
ancient  family,  he  had  early  tasted  the  bitterness  and 
humiliation  which  is  often  a  consequence  of  the  law  of 
entail.  Ilis  case  was,  indeed,  one  of  unusual  aggravation, 
for  his  mother,  a  weak  and  frivolous  woman,  lavished 
all  her  affection  on  her  eldest  son  William,  treating  the 
younger  with  neglect  and  almost  with  contempt.  The 
father,  a  man  in  active  political  life,  paid  little  attention  to 
the  family  affairs  which  his  powerful  intellect  should  have 
regulated  and  controlled,  lie  was,  however,  anxious  to 
bring  forward  his  son  and  heir,  William,  into  Parliament, 
and  resented  the  lavish  and  indolent  habits  which,  in  spite 
of  his  brilliant  qualities,  the  latter  had  from  early  youth 
exhibited.  William  Vernon  was  known  to  have  gambled 
heavily  upon  the  turf ;  yet  no  one  knew  but  himself  and 
the  Jews  to  what  extent  he  had  been  "  dipped"  until  many 
years  after  the  events  we  are  about  to  relate.  Oliver, 
having  found  life  in  his  father's  house  insupportable,  had 
left  it,  having  for  his  sole  resource  a  slender  annuity 
derived  from  a  grandmother,  and  after  buffeting  with  for- 
tune for  several  years  in  search  of  a  favorable  opening  in 
life,  had  accepted  a  position  as  Secretary  to  a  nobleman  of 
high  rank,  a  distant  connexion  of  his  fjimily.  It  was  to  this 
association  that  his  subsequent  misfortune  was  due.  The 
elder  Vernon  relied  to  a  great  extent  upon  the  promised 

interest  of  Lord  C to  push  the  political  fortunes  of 

William.  The  latter  was  assiduous  in  paying  court  to  his 
lordship,  and  was  a  frequent  visitor  both  at  his  town  and 
country  house.  At  a  time  when  the  nobleman  was  absent 
in  a  distant  part  of  the  kingdom,  a  check  purporting  to  be 
drawn  by  him  for  the  sum  of  five  thousand  pounds  was 
presented  at  his  London  Banker's.  The  sum  was  large,  but 
not  uncommonl}'-  so;  and,  as  it  was  demanded  at  the  same 
time  with  several  smaller  checks  known  to  have  passed 
through   the   hands  of  Oliver  Vernon,  whose   connexion 

with  Lord  C was  known  at  the  Banker's,  it  was  paid 

unsuspectingly.  The  signature  proved  a  forgery ;  and,  as  a 
discovery   of  the  fact   was  coupled   with   overwhelming 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  23 

criminatory  evidence,  and  was  immediately  followed  by 
Oliver  Yernon's  flight  from  England,  the  guilt  of  the  latter 
was  universally  accepted  and  believed. 

This   conviction   grew  into  certainty  in  the  minds   of 

those  interested,  when,  two  years  afterward.  Lord  C 

received  a  draft  from  America  for  the  sum  of  one  thousand 
pounds  ;  a  remittance  which  was  repeated  yearly  until  the 
whole  amount  of  which  he  had  originally  been  defrauded  had 
been  repaid.  There  had  been  no  prosecution,  and  publicity 
was  confined  to  the  immediate  circle  wherein  the  forger  had 
moved,  but  the  Yernons  never  held  up  their  heads  again. 
The  old  man  sickened  and  died  the  third  year  after  Oliver's 
flight,  and  people"  said  it  was  the  shameful  disgrace  his 
younger  son  had  brought  upon  his  house  which  had  dealt 
the  death-blow.  Then  William  Yernon  became  more  and 
more  profligate  and  dissipated,  and  it  was  found  that, 
although  he  could  not  alienate  the  family  property,  he  had 
so  far  mortgaged  his  life  interest  therein  that  but  a 
bare  pittance*  remained  for  his  support.  His  mother  had 
some  little  means,  and  it  was  said  that  bitter  quarrels  now 
occurred  between  the  parent  and  child.  In  the  fifth  year 
she,  too,  was  on  her  death-bed,  and  there  were  terrible 
stories  creeping  about  that  Mrs.  Yernon  died  cursing 
William,  and  calling  on  Oliver  Yernon  to  forgive  her.  A 
year  more  and  the  ruined  spendthrift  left  the  country,  and 
Yernon  Hall  was  put  in  charge  of  trustees  for  the  benefit 
of  his  creditors.  He  found  refuge  in  America  and  in 
the  house  of  his  brother,  who  had,  by  combined  industry 
and  good  fortune,  laid  the  foundations  for  a  handsome  com- 
petency. Oliver  endeavored  to  incline  his  brother  to 
some  settled  plan  for  life,  offering  to  assist  him  to  the 
extent  of  his  ability,  but  his  fatal  habits  were  too  deeply 
seated  to  admit  of  steadfast  attention  to  anything.  The 
effects  of  his  early  education  and  surroundings,  as  shaped 
by  his  unfortunate  mother,  were  fatally  apparent  at  last. 
He  went  from  bad  to  worse,  gambling  when  he  could 
obtain  the  means,  and  rarely  going  to  bed  sober.  Oliver 
Yernon  purchased,  in  the  tenth  year  after  his  leaving  Eng- 


24  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

land,  the  beautiful  property  which  had  since  been  his 
home.  It  was  the  year  of  his  marriage,  and  he  feared  the 
consequence  of  having  his  dissolute  brother  living  under 
the  roof  with  the  delicate  and  shrinking  girl  he  had  made 
his  wife.  However,  he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart 
to  turn  Wilham  from  his  door,  for  with  all  the  misery 
he  had  caused,  Oliver  still  tenderly  loved  him.  Within 
a  year  he  lost  both  wife  and  brother.  The  former  left 
the  world  in  giving  birth  to  Grace.  William  Vernon  left 
the  house  one  stormy  day  in  November,  and  never  returned. 
Some  thought  he  had  returned  to  England ;  some  that  he 
had  met  his  death  in  a  drunken  brawl.  The  skipper  of  a 
North  River  sloop  had  seen  two  men  in  a  boat  with  some- 
thing which  looked  like  a  body,  paddle  out  from  the  little 
Stone-Quarry  pier  which  was  under  the  Palisades  half  way 
between  Mr.  Vernon's  place  and  Dangerfield's  Rest.  But 
the  night  was  pitchy  dark,  and  no  dependence  could  be 
placed  on  this.  The  detectives  whom  Oliver  Vernon 
employed  telegraphed  him  from  New  York*,  in  triumph, 
that  they  had  discovered  the  remains  of  his  brother; 
but  the  corpse  they  had  found  proved  to  be  that  of  a 
drunken  sailor  who  had  fallen  overboard  in  the  night  from 
a  ship  in  the  harbor.  Time  wore  on,  and  no  traces  could 
be  found  of  the  missing  man.  Oliver  himself  rather  settled 
into  the  belief  that,  while  intoxicated,  and  in  the  darkness 
of  the  night,  William  had  fallen  from  some  point  on  the 
crest  of  the  Palisades,  which  rose,  frowning,  to  a  great 
height,  and  extended  entirely  along  the  eastern  boundary 
of  his  estate.  Thus  precipitated  into  the  rapid  river  the  body 
might  have  sunk  or  have  been  carried  far  away  to  the  sea. 
In  either  case,  it  need  be  looked  for  no  more.  Five,  ten, 
fifteen  years  passed  away,  and  the  Insurance  Companies  had 
finally  consented  to  pay  the  policies  which  secured  the 
creditors  of  William  Vernon  in  case  he  died  before  the  reve- 
nues of  Vernon  Hall  should  liquidate  their  claims.  The 
property  itself  thus  fell  in  due  course  into  the  possession 
of  Oliver  Vernon,  who  had  re-visited  it  for  the  first  and 
only  time  just  before  the  opening  of  our  narrative. 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  25 

We  return  from  this  digression  to  our  friends  on  the 
quarter-deck  of  the  Assyria. 

"I  fear  Mr.  Yernon  will  criticize  the  postulate,"  said 
Stephen  Dangerfield  gaily,  "  because  one  set  of  people  vote 
who  shouldn't,  we  are  to  modify  the  evil  by  enfranchising 
another  class  of  inehgibles!" 

"I'll  recollect  that  gallant  speech,  Mr.  Dangerfield — 
and  your  evasive  one,  Mr.  Eliot — but  papa  will  see  me 
righted." 

"  I  doubt  Mr.  Yernon's  supporting  you  this  time,"  said 
Eliot,  "for — and  I  have  been  surprised  by  it — he  appears 
rather  to  favor  the  curtailment  than  the  extension  of 
the  suffrage." 

"  Politics  and  the  suffrage  again !"  exclaimed  Oliver 
Yernon,  as  he  fondly  embraced  Elinor  with  an  affection 
undistinguishable  from  that  with  which  he  had  greeted  his 
daughter.  "  Why,  Mr.  Eliot,  you  will  be  perfectly  satu- 
rated with  democracy  and  heresy  before  you  see  the  Nar- 
rows. You  must  not  let  Grace  turn  you  into  a  Eadical ; 
we  want  your  opinions  of  us  from  a  normal  point  of  view, 
unprejudiced  and  unbiassed." 

The  salutations  which  preceded  and  accompanied  these 
remarks  appeared,  to  speak  truth,  rather  more  interesting 
and  suggestive  to  both  the  young  men  than  the  obser- 
vations themselves.  Eliot  recovered  himself,  however,  and 
replied  with  his  accustomed  gravity : — 

"I  was  expressing  my  surprise  that  you,  sir,  who  are 
apparently  the  advocate  of  what  are  called  progressive 
opinions,  should  be,  in  a  measure,  opposed  to  universal 
suffrage." 

"  From  which  assumption,"  added  Grace,  "  Mr.  Stephen 
Dangerfield  deduces  that  you  must  surely  oppose  its  exten- 
sion to  women." 

"I  am  the  sincere  advocate  of  Universal  Suffrage,''  said 
Yernon  steadily,  "but  I  would  adopt  it  only  after  the 
dissemination  of  that  which  can  alone  render  it  truly  useful 
to  mankind — that  is  to  say,  of  Universal  Education.  For 
the  interest  of  true  progress  names  are  nothing,  things  are 

2 


26  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

everything.  As  things  are,  to  say  that  Universal  Suffrage 
exists  in  a  country  is  by  no  means  to  imply  that  the  great- 
est possible  happiness  exists  in  that  country,  but  the  impli- 
cation would  be  inevitable  if  we  knew  that  education  was 
universal  there  as  well.  If  it  could  be  demonstrated  that 
children  of  fifteen  possessed  the  judgment  and  culture 
requisite  to  the  intelligent  appreciation  and  use  of  the 
suffrage,  I  would  extend  it  to  them.  Until  it  can  be 
demonstrated  that  hundreds  of  thousands  of  ignorant 
peasantry  coming  from  countries  where  there  are  no  free 
schools,  possess  or  acquire  such  judgment  and  culture,  I 
would  defer  intrusting  them  with  the  privilege.  I  would 
have  a  Qualification,  not  of  Property  but  of  Knowledge. 
The  extension  of  the  franchise,  if  it  means  anything,  means 
the  extension  of  happiness;  yet  in  practice,  and  in  the 
absence  of  education,  it  infallibly  produces  the  precise 
opposite.  Take  an  illustration  : — The  most  ignorant  class 
in  our  Southern  States  is  that  of  the  poor  whites — '  trash,' 
as  the  negroes  call  them ;  the  most  ignorant  class  in  the 
North  is  the  incoming  foreign  population.  These  two 
classes  have  for  years  voted  together  and  in  one  direction, 
namely,  the  direction  which  is  most  diametrically  opposed 
to  the  happiness  and  prosperity  of  both.  Tliey  have  voted 
in  the  interest  of  the  perpetuation  and  extension  of  Human 
Slavery,  which  by  making  labor  disgraceful  keeps  the  poor 
white  at  once  indigent  and  ignorant  in  the  South,  and 
closes  the  richest  territory  on  the  continent  to  the  industry 
and  enterprise  of  the  poor  white  from  the  North.  And 
yet,  mark  the  sequel,  in  connexion  with  the  use  they  have 
made  of  their  Universal  Sufi'rage — when,  in  the  Providence 
of  God,  the  inevitable  conflict  shall  arrive  between  the  two 
principles  of  Freedom  and  Slavery,  these  are  the  very  men 
who  from  the  necessities  of  their  position  must  bear  the 
brunt  of  the  Battle ; — a  Battle  which,  without  their  aid, 
Slavery  had  never  been  strong  enough  to  fight  at  all." 

"  As  to  women,"  continued  the  speaker  after  a  pause, 
"there  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  there  are  thousands 
in  America  more  capable  of  voting  wisely  than  the  mass 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  27 

of  foreign  immigrants  can  be.  Admitting  this,  the  ques- 
tion becomes  one  of  policy  and  expediency.  That  women 
may  be  admitted  ultimately  to  the  suffrage  is  by  no  means 
improbable,  but  at  present  I  question  if  society  is  ripe  for 
such  an  innovation.  There  are  very  few  women  as  yet 
who  really  desire  to  exercise  the  privilege,  but  supposing 
there  were  one  in  ten  who  did  so  desire,  the  remaining 
nine  would  be  made  unhappy  and  uncomfortable  by  the 
aspiration  or  ambition  of  the  one." 

"But  why  so,  papa,"  said  Grace  Yernon,  "could  not 
the  voting  be  made  optional  as  with  the  men  ?" 

"  I  fear  not,"  replied  her  father,  "  at  least  with  our 
existing  social  organization.  Husbands,  fathers,  and  bro- 
thers would  be  apt  to  think  that  the  votes  of  wives, 
daughters,  and  sisters  should  be  cast  as  they  wished  or  not 
cast  at  all,  so  that  average  results  might  be  unchanged." 

"'Tis  certain,"  said  Eliot,  "that  the  participation  by 
females  in  the  details  of  political  action,  more  especially  in 
that  of  elections,  would  modify  many  objectionable  features 
which  exist  at  present.  There  would  be  less  asperity,  less 
brutality,  and  certainly  less  corruption." 

"But,"  said  Dangerfield,  "would  there  not  be  in  the 
feminine  character  less  delicacy,  less  modesty,  and  less 
refinement?" 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Grace  Vernon  gravely.  "  The 
Turks  and  other  Oriental  nations  consider  that  many 
privileges  accorded  by  Western  nations  to  their  women 
should  produce  such  effects,  and  we  know  how  fallacious 
is  their  estimate.  In  France  women  serve  in  shops,  and 
have  other  paths  open  to  their  industry,  to  which  in  America 
they  are  inadmissible,  and  it  cannot  be  said  the  sex 
deteriorates  in  consequence." 

"  The  question  of  female  employment  is  in  its  infancy 
with  us  as  yet,"  said  Mr.  Vernon,  "  but  a  truce  to  such 
grave  subjects ;  we're ,  setting  Nelly  here  fast  asleep. 
Why !"  turning  and  looking  at  the  young  lady,  "  why, 
what  ails  the  child  ?" 

Elinor  Grazebrook  had  been  seated  a  few  paces  from  the 


28  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

others  during  this  discussion,  and  on  the  lee  side  of  the 
deck.  She  had  not  spoken,  save  now  and  then  a  kind 
word  in  an  undertone  to  Aunt  Mercj  close  by  ;  but  at  this 
moment  an  exclamation  burst  from  her  lips,  and  a  look  of 
intense  interest  sprang  to  the  face  before  so  placid.  One 
arm  was  stretched  toward  the  West,  and  a  taper  finger 
indicated  some  object  far  down  the  horizon  which  had 
caught  the  girl's  piercing  eyes. 

"As  I  live,"  cried  Grace  Vernon,  springing  to  Elinor's 
side,  and  glancing  toward  the  direction  in  which  she 
pointed,  "'tis  a  boat — a  boat  with  a  broken  mast,  and 
lying  on  her  side." 

"  A  boat !"  laughed  Stephen  Dangerfield,  "  'tis  a  large 
schooner  and  water-logged!" 

"  The  look-out  must  have  been  asleep,"  grumbled  Mr. 
Edwards,  bustling  aft.  "  Let  her  go  off  a  point,  Markwell !" 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir." 

"  Large  schooner — both  sticks  out  of  her — on  her  beam- 
ends — "  continued  Mr.  Edwards,  with  his  eye  to  the  glass. 
"Jacobs,  call  Captain  Stanchion  !" 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir." 

"  Any  signs  of  poor  people  aboard,  Mr.  Edwards  ?" 
inquired  Vernon  anxiously.     "No  crew,  no  passengers?" 

"  None,  sir,  that  I  can  make  out.  Abandoned,  I  fancy. 
She  may  have  been  in  this  plight  for  a  month." 

Captain  Stanchion  now  hurried  on  deck,  white  trowser'd, 
collarless,  and  catching  hastily  the  buttons  of  his  coat.  He 
glanced  at  the  wreck  and  at  the  compass.  "Let  her  fall  off, 
let  her  fall  off,   Markwell !" 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir." 

"  A  couple  of  points  will  do.  We  must  see  if  there  are 
any  poor  souls  about.  Get  ready  the  Quarter-cutter  if  you 
please,  Mr.  Edwards.    So,  that'll  do,  Markwell  1    Steady  1" 

"  Steady,  sir." 

The  steamship  was  now  fast  approaching  the  wreck, 
which,  on  its  first  discovery  nearly  five  points  on  the 
lee-bow,  was  now  nearly  ahead.  She  was  a  vessel  of 
perhaps  a  hundred  and  fifty  tons,  of  the  long,  fast  sailing 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  29 

build,  and  had  evidently  been  very  handsomely  fitted  up. 
Her  masts  were  both  missing,  the  main  having  apparently 
gone  by  the  board,  leaving  a  stump  of  perhaps  ten  feet, 
the  mizen  cut  away  close  by  the  deck.  The  bulwarks 
were  stove  fore  and  aft,  and  whatever  may  have  been  on 
deck  in  the  shape  of  cook's  galleys  or  other  houses,  had 
entirely  disappeared.  The  bowsprit  remained,  and  there 
hung  from  it  fragments  of  lines,  being  jib  or  stay-sail  gear, 
which  trailed  in  the  sea.  The  decks  were  on  a  very  heavy 
angle  to  the  surface  of  the  water,  seeming  to  show  that  the 
cargo  or  ballast  had  shifted  when  the  vessel  was  knocked 
on  her  beam-ends,  and  that  even  the  lightening  caused  by 
the  loss  of  the  masts  had  failed  to  right  her.  A  lot  of  sea- 
weed and  drift  of  various  sorts  surrounded  the  ill-fated 
craft,  which  had  the  appearance  of  having  been  some  time 
in  the  course  of  collection. 

The  experienced  eye  of  Captain  Stanchion  ranged  over 
all  these  details,  and  drew  the  inferences  which  they  sug- 
gested. "  Not  a  living  soul  nor  a  sign  of  one,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  I  fear  we  shall  lose  our  time  for  our  pains.  No  need  to 
lower  the  boat,  I  fancy." 

"JSTot  for  life's  sake,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Edwards, 
"  there's  not  a  trace  of  hide  or  hair  visible,  and  surely 
no  one  would  go  below  in  a  thing  like  that  without  leaving 
as  much  as  a  rag  flying." 

"  No  use,  no  use,"  said  the  Captain  decidedly,  and  shut- 
ting his  glass  with  a  bang  after  another  long  scrutiny. 
"  Can't  lose  time." 

"  Shall  we  put  the  ship  on  her  course  again,  sir  ?" 

"Ay,  ay.  But  give  them  a  gun.  Make  ready  a  gun 
there  forwa.rd  !  We'll  give  them  a  last  chance  if  there  be 
any  one  about."  Both  orders  were  executed  simultaneously. 
The  bow  of  the  great  steamship  swung  around  to  the  wind, 
and  the  flash  and  heavy  boom  of  the  cannon  followed  in 
quick  succession,  just  as  the  movement  of  the  ship  had 
brought  the  schooner  abeam.  The  smoke  drSve  down  to 
leeward,  hiding  the  wreck  for  a  time  from  the  gaze  of  the 
spectators  on  the  quarter-deck.     A  dead  silence  followed, 


30  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

■while  the  two  girls  looked  at  each  other  with  a  glance  of 
sympathetic  disappointment.  Another  instant  and  a  sharp 
cry  again  burst  from  Elinor : — 

"  Oh,  no,  sir  1     Captain  Stanchion  !  look,  sir,  look !" 

The  smoke  had  risen,  curling  away  in  fantastic  eddies, 
and  again  discovered  the  wreck  scarcely  a  third  of  a  mile 
under  their  lee.  From  the  after  hatchway  there  appeared, 
thrust  upward  with  a  feeble  and  tremulous  motion,  a  staif 
with  the  fragment  of  a  torn  and  tattered  American  ensign. 
A  human  hand  must  be  below  it,  for  it  rose  higher  and 
higher  until  the  whole  fragment  blew  out  into  the  breeze. 
Then  as  if  the  strength  which  upheld  it  were  utterly 
exhausted,  the  pole  and  the  flag  fell  prone  to  the  deck. 

Every  one  on  the  deck  of  the  Assyria  saw  and  understood 
this  mute  appeal.  Almost  without  orders  the  ship's  head 
fell  off  from  the  wind,  the  men  sprang  to  the  davits  at  the 
starboard  quarter,  a  few  revolutions  of  the  paddles  and  the 
boat  was  lowered  into  the  sea.  Impulsively  the  two  young 
men  leaped  into  it,  with  the  crew,  and  pulling  as  if  indeed 
for  life,  six  sturdy  oarsmen  drove  it  through  the  water. 
Those  who  remained  behind  gazed  with  straining  eyes 
watching  the  result.  Nor  had  they  long  to  wait,  although 
to  Elinor  Grazebrook  the  time  seemed  incalculable. 

Presently  they  see  a  confusion  as  the  men  gain  and 
clamber  up  the  sloping  decks  of  the  schooner.  A  few 
moments  more  and  they  are  on  their  return — have  returned. 
The  steamship's  deck  is  now  alive  with  curious  and  expec- 
tant faces,  which  crowd  to  the  bulwarks  as  the  living  freight 
of  the  boat  ascends  the  side.  There  are  ten  now  instead  of 
eight.  Three  or  four  men  tumble  up  over  the  rail,  then 
Eliot  and  another  supporting  a  middle-aged  negress  with 
face  haggard  and  ghastly  with  its  emaciation  and  pinched 
blue  lips.  Then  Oliver  Yernon  presses  forward  to  the 
gangway,  and  Stephen  Dangerfield  comes  up  quickly  and 
places  in  the  old  man's  outstretched  and  protecting  arms 
— a  little  child. 


BEFORE  THE  STORM  31 


CHAPTER  III. 

MR.  GOSSAMER  Von  Donk  was  a  very  fair  type  of 
the  scions  of  that  large  and — especially  in  New  York 
— rapidly  increasing  class,  the  nouveaux  riches.  Personally, 
he  was  a  thin  young  man  with  narrow  shoulders,  bony 
extremities,  and  an  imbecile  expression  about  the  legs. 
He  had  rather  agreeable  features,  whose  natural  disposition 
would  have  suggested  good-natured  vacuity,  but  which  he 
habitually  forced  into  a  look  intended  to  convey  a  mixture 
of  misanthropy  and  ferocity.  His  eyes  were  of  a  maroon 
color  bound  in  pink  cord,  and  his  huge  moustache  {d  la 
Calmuck  Tartar)  was  of  a  rich  tan,  injudiciously  dyed  to 
a  sooty  black.  He  wore  his  hair  extremely  short  for  the 
purpose  of  producing  a  half-fledged  appearance  which 
he  supposed  to  be  becoming  to  his  style  of  head.  He  had 
always  a  profusion  of  clothes  very  extravagantly  cut,  and 
a  vast  supply  of  studs,  chains,  rings,  and  such  like  trinkets. 
Of  these  his  favorite  selection  consisted  of  a  set  of  huge 
diamonds,  worn  on  the  breast  and  wrists,  and  which  he 
generally  put  on  before  breakfast.  When  these  gorgeous 
appendages  had  been  added  to  black  clothes,  including 
what  he  termed  "  pants"  and  "  vest,"  Mr.  Von  Donk  formerly 
conceived  his  costume  to  embody  the  very  acme  of  taste 
and  elegance  as  exhibited  in  a  gentleman's  morning  toilet. 
Since  visiting  England,  however,  his  views  had  undergone 
some  modifications,  and  he  was  now  provided  with  vast 
store  of  loose  "  rough"  clothes  of  various  carpet-like  tex- 
tures, and  worn  in  suits  which  he  carefully  changed  some 
five  or  six  times  a  day.  By  this  means  he  produced  a 
pleasing  and  variegated  effect,  whilst  furnishing  himself 
with  an  agreeable  occupation.  Thus  he  would  appear  at 
breakfast  in  very  pronounced  checks  of  opposed  and  uncom- 
promising colors,  which  before  luncheon  would  ameliorate 
a.nd  soften  into  gentle  stripes  of  conciliatory  and  harmoniz- 
ing hues.  Before  dinner,  however,  these  placid  lines  would 
fall   into  violent  confusion  and  merge   into  thunder  and 


32  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

• 

lightning  of  the  loudest  and  most  appalling  character,  which 
again  having  had  full  sway  for  a  time,  the  storm  would 
clear,  and  give  place  to  warm  and  rainbow  tints  quite 
in  keeping  with  the  approaching  sunset.  As  a  result  of 
this  ingenious  procedure  the  impression  was  first  produced 
on  the  stranger  that  there  were  several  Mr.  Gossamer  Von 
Donks,  or  that,  being  only  one,  he  had  some  mysterious 
power  of  multiplying  himself  indefinitely  ;  and  it  was  only 
on  further  and  closer  inspection  that  the  truth  became 
apparent,  and  that  both  these  distressing  hypotheses  could 
be  safely  dismissed. 

Mr.  Von  Donk  was  remarkably  well  known  in  New 
York,  and  had  his  circle  of  acquaintance  been  as  choice  as 
it  was  extensive,  there  would  only  have  been  room  for 
congratulation  in  such  a  circumstance.  Unhappily  this 
was  by  no  means  the  fact.  Not  a  tallow-faced  blackleg 
crawled  out  of  his  hole  of  a  morning,  but  gave  a  leer 
of  approving  recognition  as  Grossamer's  fast  trotters  swung 
him  through  Broadway.  Not  an  equivocal  bit  of  brocade 
or  crinoline  sailed  through  the  afternoon's  crowd  but  had  a 
simper  and  a  sideling  glance  of  meaning  reminiscence  as 
Gossamer  took  his  ante-dining  saunter.  The  greasy  Orien- 
tal-looking gentry  who  may  be  of  "Wall  or  of  Chatham 
street,  but  who  haunt  alike  the  lobby  of  the  Opera-house, 
knew  all  about  our  young  friend,  and  some  of  them  had 
his  measure  in  their  breeches'  pocket.  Most  of  the  small 
actors  who  haunt  English  pot-houses  about  the  back  doors 
of  the  theatres  knew  him  and  admired  his  critical  judg- 
ment. Not  a  few  gentlemen  with  broad  shoulders,  bird's- 
eye  neckerchiefs,  and  malign  expression,  who  go  on  mys- 
terious belligerent  excursions  into  New  Jersey  and  Staten 
Island,  knew  him,  and  said  he  was  a  "  whole-souled  sup- 
porter of  our  noble  art,  by  G — d,  sir!"  Staunch  adher- 
ents also  had  he  among  the  small  scribblers  and  hangers-on 
of  the  press — such  as  had  seen  the  color  of  his  money,  at  the 
epochs  of  his  numerous  fleeting  passions  for  skinny  come- 
diennes or  galvanic  danseitses.  Mr.  Toadeater  Sumph  is  an 
immense  admirer  of  his;  he    calls  the  young    man  "his 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  83 

dearest  Gossy,"  and  writes  love-songs  for  him.  Toadeater 
also  invites  himself  to  Greneral  Von  Donk's  country  house, 
and  subsequently,  to  the  houses,  town  or  country,  of 
everybody  he  meets  there,  and  ultimately  puts  all  their 
names  down  as  subscribers  to  his  forthcoming  work,  "  The 
Adventures  of  an  Idiot,"  Stickum  the  Manager,  and 
Libel  the  Editor  of  the  Sunday  Muckrake^  are  also  very 
fond  of  Gossamer ;  they  also  "  have  had  occasion,"  they 
aver,  "  to  appreciate  his  many  high-toned  and  manly  quali- 
ties." 

Yet  with  all  this  extensive  and  elevating  circle  of 
acquaintance — which  included,  indeed,  many  more  we 
need  not  designate,  and  embraced  innumerable  gentle- 
manly expressmen,  bar-keepers,  billiard-markers,  and  dog- 
fanciers — with  all  his  multiplication  of  fine  clothes  and 
jewellery,  fast  horses  and  expectancies,  Mr.  Gossamer  Yon 
Donk  was  not  happy.  At  Newport,  during  the  last  sum- 
mer, he  had  permitted  himself  to  be  drawn  into  a  net, 
which,  as  he  now  bitterly  declared,  bade  fair  to  poison  all 
his  future  hopes.  In  a  word,  he  had  engaged  himself  to 
Miss  Joanna  Heydensucker.  This  was  a  procedure  par- 
tially attributable  to  the  adroit  engineering  of  Mrs.  General 
Yon  Donk,  and  partly  to  that  of  the  Honorable  Job  Hey- 
densucker, the  father  of  the  lady  in  question.  The  Hey- 
densuckers  were  of  an  old  and  distinguished  Knicker- 
bocker family,  whose  ancestor,  three  generations  ago,  kept  a 
Dutch  beer-shop  on  the  Battery.  The  Honorable  Job's 
father,  who  was  a  man  of  some  culture  and  prodigious 
cunning,  had  managed  to  achieve  a  high  political  position, 
a  circumstance  very  fortunate  for  his  family,  and  especially 
so  for  the  Honorable  Job,  who  had  traded  upon  it  ever 
since.  The  latter  was  ostensibly  of  the  legal  profession, 
but  being  a  very  bad  lawyer  as  well  as  a  singularly 
indolent  one,  he  failed  in  attaining  distinction  at  the  bar. 
He  therefore  devoted  much  of  his  attention  to  political 
chicanery,  wherein  he  was  more  successful,  and  would  have 
been    signally   so,   but  for   the    peculiarly    slippery   and 

unfaithful  quality  which  was  his  chief  characteristic,  and 

2* 


34  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

which  he  imported  alike  into  politics  and  law.  He  ratted 
continually,  going  always  to  the  side  which  could  recom- 
pense him  by  the  most  immediate  profit.  In  the  meantime 
he  had  rather  expensive  habits,  and  counting  the  inroads 
made  by  a  passion  for  gambling  and  a  habit  of  heavy  drink- 
ing, the  Honorable  Job  was  always  in  need  of  repairs  both 
in  purse  and  constitution.  It  was  with  a  view  to  the  former 
necessity  that  he  had  years  before  contracted  his  marriage 
with  a  lady  of  a  wealthy  and  respectable  family,  which  had 
never  been  known  to  make  a  mistake  until  it  committed 
'the  glaring  one  of  accepting  the  political  and  social  status 
of  the  Honorable  Job  at  his  own  valuation.  The  lady 
became  the  mother  of  Miss  Joanna  aforesaid,  whose  charms 
were  now  superadded  to  the  weight  and  prestige  of  the 
Heydensucker  name,  in  virtue  of  which  the  Honorable 
Job  considered  her  an  over  match  for  the  Von  Donk 
strong  box.  Thus  it  stood  then  ;  Mrs.  General  Von  Donk 
wanted  social  position  for  Gossamer,  the  Honorable  Job 
Heydensucker  wanted  hard  dollars  for  Joanna.  The  lady 
thought  to  gain  her  point  by  the  suggested  alliance,  the 
gentleman  was  determined  to  gain  his  point  by  it.  There 
remained  only  one  difficulty — the  consent  of  the  parties 
most  directly  interested,  to  achieve  which  it  was  diploma- 
tically arranged  that  Mrs,  General  should  fascinate  the 
young  lady,  and  that  the  Honorable  Job  should  in  like 
manner  charm  the  young  gentleman.  Mrs.  General's  pro- 
cess was  of  the  directest  order,  and  included  the  presen- 
tation of  rich  laces,  handsome  shawls,  and  articles  of 
bijouterie^  with  an  artistic  working  in  of  dashing  equipages 
and  opera  boxes  in  perspective.  The  Honorable  Job's 
tactics  were  more  machiavellian,  and  included  among  their 
material  features  the  singular  device  of  keeping  Mr. 
Gossamer  Von  Donk  in  that  astute  politician's  rooms  at  the 

Hotel  until  daylight  on  several  occasions,  when  the 

former  gentleman  would  emerge  with  a  paler  face  and 
redder  eyes  than  ever.  So  it  fell  out  that  when  a  per- 
suasive melange  of  threats  and  cajolery  had  brought  the 
young  people,  neither  of  whom  fancied  the  other,  to  the 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  36 

engagement  point,  the  Honorable  Job  clinched  the  amatory 
understanding  bj  suggesting  privately  to  the  unhappy 
Gossamer  that  sundry  bits  of  paper  representing  an  alarm- 
ing number  of  thousands  and  bearing  his,  Gossamer's, 
autograph,  might  serve  as  a  portion  for  the  fascinating 
Joanna,  instead  of  being  submitted  to  the  paternal  con- 
sideration of  the  irascible  and  penurious  General  Von  Donk. 

The  year  which  was  to  elapse  before  the  union  thus 
auspiciously  conceived  was  now  nearly  at  an  end.  It  was 
arranged  in  fact  to  take  place  during  the  ensuing  Septem- 
ber. This  was  the  incubus  hanging  over  the  spirits  of  our 
young  friend  Von  Donk.  There  were  now  two  insurmounta- 
ble objections  in  his  mind  to  carrying  out  his  engagement. 
One  was  his  growing  aversion  to  the  lady,  her  father,  and 
all  the  circumstances  connected  with  his  acquaintance  and 
entanglement  with  them ;  the  other  consisted  in  his  having 
fallen  head  over  ears  in  love  with  Miss  Grace  Vernon. 

Such  was  the  piteous  narration  which  he  poured  into 
the  sympathizing  ear  of  Mr.  Elias  P.  Staggers,  on  the 
morning  after  the  rescue  from  the  wreck.  Mr.  Staggers, 
or,  as  he  was  more  familiarly  styled  among  his  acquaint- 
ance, "  Elias  P.,"  was  in  the  Banking  and  Stock  Brokerage 
business  in  Wall  Street.  He  was  rather  stout,  very  fussy, 
and,  like  many  of  our  countrymen  who  are  in  trade,  very 
uneasy  about  his  social  position.  He  was  rich,  or  rather 
his  wife  was,  long  experience  in  his  mutable  calling  having 
taught  him  the  value  of  prudence,  as  exemplified  more 
particularly  by  keeping  the  bulk  of  his  property  "  out  of 
his  own  hands."  Elias  P.  always  wore  black  clothes  made 
from  the  most  expensive  fabrics,  dressing,  as  he  repeated 
with  inward  complacency,  "plain  but  rich."  He  had  a 
bald  head,  no  eyebrows,  and  that  indescribably  fascinating 
expression  which  is  obtained  by  wearing  the  full  beard 
everywhere  else,  and  shaving  to  scarification  the  upper  lip. 

He  affected  to  be  very  fond  of  art  and  artists,  and  set  up 
for  both  critic  and  patron,  more  especially  of  the  Italian 
Opera ;  but  in  reality  his  soul  was  completely  bound  up  in 
money-getting,  and  his   aesthetical  pretensions  were  stock 


36  danqerfield's  rest;  or 

investments  worth  just  wbat  they  would  bring  in  in  popu- 
larity and  social  consideration.  He  had  transacted  business 
for  many  years  for  old  General  Von  Donk,  and  a  degree 
of  intimacy  existed  between  their  respective  families. 
Moreover  most  nights  of  the  present  passage  of  the  Assyria 
had  been  enlivened  by  what  the  participants  called  "  poker 
parties,"  in  Mr.  Staggers's  Stateroom,  which,  with  the  aid  of 
much  punch  and  champagne,  had  contributed  to  the  esta- 
blishment of  those  confidential,  relations  which  now  led  Mr. 
Gossamer  Von  Donk  to  seek  the  worthy  broker's  advice 
and  sympathy.  Independent  of  the  other  embarrassments 
of  his  situation,  the  young  man  was  becoming  very  jealous 
of  the  attentions  paid  Grace  Vernon  by  Eobert  Eliot  and 
Stephen  Dangerfield,  albeit  his  nicest  scrutiny  had  failed 
as  yet  to  satisfy  him  as  to  which  of  the  two  he  had  most 
reason  to  dread. 

"  I  don't  like  neither  of  'em,"  said  Mr,  Staggers  consol- 
ingly. "  As  for  Stephen  Dangerfield,  he  ain't  near  so  well 
off  as  he  thinks  he  is,  and  that  /  know.  He's  kinder  high 
and  mighty  because  they  live  on  their  own  land  and  hain't 
been  in  business  :  but  that  sort  o'  thing  don't  do,  and 
oughtn't  to  do  in  a  free  country." 

"  No,  5^V,"  said  Mr.  Von  Donk. 

"  The  other  fellow's  bad  enough,"  continued  Mr.  Staggers, 
"  but  folks  is  airy  where  he  comes  from,  and  p'raps  he 
don't  know  no  better.     I  wonder  how  much  he's  wuth." 

Gossamer  was  ignorant  as  to  Mr.  Eliot's  estate,  but  sug- 
gested that  he  didn't  appear  to  have  many  clothes. 

"  Oh  !  you  can't  tell  nuthin  by  that,"  said  Staggers 
authoritatively;  "  these  Englishmen,  if  they  arc  real  swells, 
everybody  knows  it,  and  they  don't  have  to  keep  drcssin' 
and  undressin'  themselves  to  show  what  they  are.  It's  dif- 
ferent with  our  folks.  We  hain't  got  no  standards,  so  we 
have  to  kinder  show  off  more.  Now,  nobody  would  know 
that  you  was  anything,  unless  you  dressed  showy  and  ex- 
pensive." 

Poor  Gossamer  looked  rather  blankly  at  his  uncom- 
promising checks,  but  plucked   up  courage  to  question, 


BEFORE   THE   STORM  37 

"What  odds  does  it  make  whether  Eliot  is  a  swell  or 
not?" 

"  Just  this.  Old  Yernon,  for  all  his  liberal  ideas,  has  a 
good  deal  of  the  old  country  feeling  'bout  blood  and  breed- 
ing and  such  stuff,  and  he's  been  too  careful  to  get  his 
money  not  to  value  that  pooty  high  too.  Now,  if  Eliot 
don't  come  up  to  the  mark  on  both  points,  he  won't  do, 
certain." 

"  I  don't  think  the  old  gentleman  cares  a  bit  about  tin, 
and.  I'm  sure  Miss  Grace  doesn't.  Then,  if  it  should  be 
Steve  Dangerfield " 

"I'll  fix  that,"  said  the  broker,  "he'U  have  no  chance  at 
all.  There'd  be  a  crash,  any  how,  when  the  olcl  ma.n 
goes,  and  they  say  he  won't  last  much  longer.  He's  pooty 
well  gone  in  on  the  property  question,  tho'  I  guess  Steve 
don't  know  it.  I  can  let  Vernon  know  just  enough  to 
answer  the  purpose.  Then  we'll  get  Sprigg  to  write  to 
their  London  correspondent,  and  find  out  'bout  Eliot. 
P'raps  he's  done  somethin'  or  another  and  had  to  leave ; 
and  p'raps,  after  all,  he  mayn't  have  no  idea  of  the  girl." 

"  But  even  if  all  this  turns  out  as  I  wish,  there's  Job 
Hey  densucker ' ' 

"  Don't  you  be  alarmed  'bout  /am,"  chuckled  Elias  P. 
"  I'll  attend  to  him,  /will.  If  he's  got  them  notes  o'  yourn, 
he's  just  got  to  make  'em  over  to  me,  or  I'll  know  the  rea- 
son why.  You  and  I  can  settle  at  some  future  time.  I'm 
willin'  to  wait." 

"  I'm  sure  it's  very  kind  of  you — very.  Ma'll  make  a 
fuss,  but  I  guess  I  can  get  over  her.  I  don't  mind  saying 
to  you,  Mr.  Staggers,  you  being  such  an  old  friend,  that 
I've  been  very  unhappy  about  all  this  business.  I  never 
cared  a  bit  about  any  girl  before,  and  if  these  obstacles  are 
removed,  I  have  nothing  to  fear." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  o'  that,"  replied  Staggers,  sagely,  "  a 
handsome  girl  with  a  large  fortune  is  the  most  uncer- 
tain thing  in  the  world.  Now,  there's  Cuthbert  Boynton 
— /  should  keep  an  eye  on  Cuthbert  Boynton.  See  he's 
leanin'  over  there  now,  pattin'  the  little  girl's  head  !" 


38  dakgerfield's  rest;  or 

Gossamer  smiled.  He  had  no  fears  from  that  quarter. 
He  had  a  contempt  both  for  the  cut  and  the  trimmings  of 
Cuthbert  Boynton's  clothes,  which  he  could  scarcely 
express  in  words.  The  idea  of  being  supplanted  by  a 
man  in  such  peg-tops  as  those  was  absurd.  Besides,  Gos- 
samer fell  into  an  error  common  to  his  class.  He  thought 
the  careless  ease  which  was  characteristic  of  the  Southern- 
!  er's  manner  was  indicative  of  a  want  of  style.  He  con- 
trasted this  to  Boynton's  disadvantage  with  his  own  stiff  and 
priggish  ways.  Altogether  he  felt  quite  safe  as  regards 
Cuthbert  Boynton,  and  he  said  as  much,  rather  flippantly, 
as,  with  his  Mentor,  he  approached  the  group  before  them. 

"  Hush  !"  breathed  the  Broker,  in  a  reverential  whisper; 
"hush,  he's  got  more'n  three  hundred  niggers." 

Seated  on  Oliver  Vernon's  knee,  with  its  little  head 
leaning  trustingly  against  his  shoulder,  was  the  child  res- 
cued from  the  wreck  of  the  schooner  the  day  before — a 
little  girl  scarcely  five  years  of  age,  but  who,  from  the 
steadfast  solemnity  of  her  expression,  and  a  certain  pecu- 
liar intelligence  of  the  eyes,  appeared  somewhat  older. 
The  eyes  themselves  were  exceedingly  beautiful,  large, 
dark,  and  liquid,  with  sweeping,  glossy  fringes,  and  sur- 
mounted by  brows  of  exquisitely  delicate  pencilling.  The 
hair  fell  in  dark-brown  waves  about  a  face  pale  from  fatigue 
and  anxiety,  but  the  complexion  had  the  soft  olive  tint 
which  was  in  harmony  with  the  coloring  of  the  eyes  and 
hair.  The  child's  dress  had  been  such  as  showed  her  to 
belong  to  people  of  refinement,  but  was  sadly  frayed  and 
stained  with  sea-water,  so  that  the  resources  of  Gra.ce  and 
Elinor  had  been  taxed  to  find  substitutes  for  the  ruined 
articles.  She  had  complained  of  being  chilled,  and  was 
wrapped  at  the  moment  in  a  large  India  shawl,  whose 
bright  hues  threw  out  in  picturesque  relief  the  beauty  of 
her  eyes  and  complexion.  Nothing  had  been  taken  from 
the  wreck,  as  all  that  was  movable  had  been  swept  away, 
and  the  little  after  cabin  was  half  filled  with  water.  The 
table,  which  had  nearly  occupied  its  whole  length,  had  evi- 
dently been  wrenched  from  its  fastenings  when  the  vessel 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  39 

went  on  her  beam  ends,  and  was  jammed  against  the  doors 
of  the  small  state-rooms  on  the  lee-side.  On  the  opposite, 
or  weather  side,  the  doors  had  apparently  been  torn  from 
their  hinges,  and  the  rooms  contained  nothing  but  the  bed 
gear  in  the  berths.  The  child  knew  nothing  of  the  fate  of 
the  crew.  There  had  been  a  dreadful  storm,  she  said,  and 
Gertj  held  her  in  her  arms.  When  the  tempest  subsided, 
there  was  no  one  on  board  but  Gertj  and  herself.  The 
negress  had  contrived  to  make  a  flag-pole  of  a  small  spar 
which  had  been  lashed  on  deck,  and  she  fastened  to  this  a 
flag  found  in  "ft.  locker  by  the  transom.  She  had  found 
some  ship's  biscuit,  and  a  little  water,  but  both  were 
exhausted  when  they  were  rescued.  It  was  quite  evident 
that  the  negress  had  denied  herself  to  prolong  the  life  of 
the  child,  for  the  latter  was  but  little  emaciated,  while 
her  nurse  was  in  the  last  stage  of  exhaustion  ;  indeed,  she 
was  now  very  low,  and  had  been  quite  delirious  ever  since 
she  was  brought  on  board.  As  to  their  origin  and  destina- 
tion the  child  said  but  little.  It  was  gathered  that  they 
had  sailed  from  a  port  in  Georgia,  and  were  on  their  way 
to  New  York — "  to  see  papa,"  the  child  said.  She  added 
that  her  name  was  "Ally,"  but  seemed  embarrassed 
when  questioned  as  to  her  surname,  and  the  point  was  not 
pressed. 

The  advent  of  the  little  stranger,  as  might  have  been 
expected,  had  produced  no  small  commotion  on  board. 
Sprigg  had  already  prepared  a  "  sensation  "  article  on  the 
subject,  to  appear  immediately  in  the  New  York  Crier. 
Slymer  was  deliberating  as  to  the  best  method  of  getting 
his  own  name  published  in  conspicuous  connexion  with 
the  romantic  incident  of  the  rescue.  Mrs.  General  Von 
Donk  and  her  daughters  were  in  despair  at  their  own  ill 
luck,  or  late  hours,  which  had  prevented  them  from  esta- 
blishing a  pre-emptive  claim  on  so  interesting  a  protegee. 
McSwindle  was  chiefly  exercised  about  the  "  nagur,"  whom 
he  set  down  as  a  runaway,  and  as  being  sent  by  a  special 
and  providential  grace  to  afford  him  the  opportunity  of 
making  "  political  capital,"  by  causing  her  arrest  in  New 


40  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

York,  and  subsequent  "rendition"  to  her  Southern  master. 
Elinor  and  Grace  were  delighted  with  the  happy  accident 
which  had  brought  them  so  lovely  a  plaything,  while  the 
deeper  feelings  of  womanly  instinct,  rich  in  both  their 
hearts,  found  ample  scope  in  the  care  and  pity  they  lavish- 
ed on  it.  Stephen  Dangerfield  with  his  sturdy  manliness 
was  charmed  in  watching  the  beautiful  girls  caressing  the 
poor  little  unprotected  waif  he  had  brought  them.  Robert 
Eliot  was  engrossed  in  profound  consideration  over  the 
singular  physiognomical  resemblance  he  had  discovered  to 
exist  between  the  child  and  Elinor  Grazebrfeok.  To  Oliver 
Vernon  alone  did  the  new  arrival  appear  to  bring  a  trace 
of  sadness.  Overflowing  as  he  was  with  humanity — a  fact 
which  the  little  one's  quick  instinct  straightway  detected 
and  appreciated — ever  happiest  in  conferring  happiness  on 
others,  and  not  least  so  when  the  recipients  were  at  once 
innocent  and  friendless,  it  might  have  been  supposed  that 
such  an  incident  as  this  was  well  adapted  to  exhibit  in 
lovable  relief  the  most  attractive  qualities  of  his  nature. 
And  so  indeed  it  was.  But  the  shadow  on  his  brow  sprang 
from  naught  which  had  to  do  with  the  present.  It  was 
the  foreboding  of  evil,  or  the  recollection  of  misfortune. 
From  the  breast  of  the  colored  woman  had  been  taken  a 
letter,  which  was  confided  to  Oliver  Vernon ;  he  had  not 
disturbed  the  seal,  but  had  merely  glanced  at  the  super- 
scription. The  young  ladies  had  shared  their  state-room 
with  the  child  the  night  before,  when  they  made  two  small 
discoveries  insignificant  enough  in  themselves,  but  which 
Grace  had  communicated  to  her  father — on  the  corner  of  a 
pocket-handkerchief  a  "  K,"  in  Old  English  lettering  ;  and 
on  the  child's  tiny  chemise,  in  the  same  characters,  worked 
in  crimson  silk,  the  word  '"[Alabama." 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  41 


CHAPTER  IV. 


WHEN  the  Assyria  was  gliding  up  the  Narrows,  her 
passengers  were  contemplating  the  end  of  their 
voyage  with  various  and  opposite  emotions.  Elinor  and 
Grace  anticipated  with  delight  their  return  to  the  happy 
home  they  last  year  quitted ;  but  discussed  with  an  inter- 
est, not  unmixed  with  anxiety,  the  chances  of  being  able 
to  retain  the  beautiful  child  as  a  permanent  acquisition. 
To  Elinor,  the  subject  assumed  an  importance  which  she 
could  not  explain  even  to  herself.  Nothing  was  more 
natural  than  that  an  attachment  should  spring  up,  even  in 
so  short  a  time,  for  a  charge  so  lovely  and  so  interesting  : 
but,  with  this  feeUng,  there  mingled  in  Elinor's  breast  a 
certain  sense  of  personal  responsibility,  coupled  with  an 
oppressive  conviction  of  impending  danger.  Perhaps  the 
latter  emotion  was  strengthened  by  her  careful  study  of 
Oliver  Yernon's  countenance.  The  girl  was  so  essentially 
sympathetic — so  largely  gifted  with  mysterious  feminine 
perception — that  she  speedily  learned  to  know  almost  the 
thoughts  of  those  who  came  in  contact  with  her  under  ordi- 
nary circumstances  ;  but  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Yernon,  the 
knowledge  was  all  but  literal ;  and,  in  matters  approaching 
gravity,  could  hardly  be  mistaken.  She  had  read  in  his 
mild  and  dignified  face  as  he  gazed  on  the  unconscious 
child, — tempered  with  the  love  which  was  always  there, — 
pity  and  apprehension :  and  her  quick  spirit  hastened  to 
share  in  both  sentiments. 

Grace,  more  volatile,  and  therefore  less  penetrating,  had 
other  claims  on  her  attention,  which,  albeit  sometimes 
annoying,  supplied  her  with  never  failing  sources  of  amuse- 
ment. Gossamer  Yon  Donk  was  persistent  in  his  atten- 
tions, which  were  growing  too  pointed  to  be  misunderstood. 
His  jealousy  veered  from  Eliot  to  Cuthbert  Boynton,  and 
from  the  Southerner  to  Stephen  Dangerfield  ;  and  he  strove 
assiduously  to  out-dress  and  out-talk  all  three.  As  often 
happens,  he  disposed  most  of  his  suspicions  in  the  quarter 


42  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

where  they  were  least  justified  ;  and,  aided  by  the  machiua- 
tions  of  his  ally,  the  artful  Staggers,  and  the  experienced 
tactics  of  his  mother.  Gossamer  succeeded  in  fastening  on 
Eliot  much  of  the  society  of  the  Misses  Zerlina  and  Vio- 
letta ;  and,  in  an  evil  hour,  a  pledge  to  pass  some  time  at 
the  Von  Donk  cottage,  at  Newport,  during  the  coming 
September.  Stephen  Dangerfield  watched  the  little  comedy 
with  great  interest,  but  with  scarcely  a  suspicion  in  his 
honest  heart,  that  the  bewitching  Grace  had  commenced 
to  encroach  therein.  True,  he  had  taken  huge  delight  in 
frustrating  various  small  schemes  of  Gossamer's,  having 
for  their  aim  walking  the  deck  with  that  lady,  getting  next 
her  at  table,  and  the  like  ;  but  this  he  accounted  for  on 
the  score  of  his  aversion  for  the  young  man,  whom,  in 
his  double  capacity  of  dandy  and  parvenu^  Stephen  by 
no  means  admired. 

Eobert  Eliot  looked  forward  with  zest  and  curiosity  to 
his  coming  tour  through  America.  His  family  came  of  a 
long  line  of  Whigs,  and  his  father  was  now  in  Parliament. 
Some  of  the  Eliots  had  held  oiSice,  but  they  were  not  of 
the  modern  stamp  of  their  party,  with  whom  it  appears  to 
be  accepted  that,  once  they  gain  place,  they  are  to  turn 
Tories.  They  were  consistent,  progressive  liberals,  who 
believed  in  making  concessions  to  the  people,  just  as  ra- 
pidly as,  in  a  wise  discretion,  the  people  were  intelligent 
and  educated  enough  to  make  good  use  of  them  :  who 
hated  tyranny  of  all  forms  and  shapes,  and  did  not  believe 
that  any  Government  could  be  either  good  or  permanent, 
which  included  in  its  policy  the  oppression  of  any  race, 
class,  or  sect  :  who  ,had  no  sympathy  with  the  detestable 
politicians,  who,  in  their  horror  of  the  example  of  success- 
ful freedom,  are  ever  anxious  to  ignore  or  to  crush  all  the 
happiness  successful  freedom  surely  brings  where  it  exists. 
Imbued  with  these  and  kindred  opinions,  Robert  Eliot  was 
well  qualified  to  survey  with  no  unfriendly  prejudice  the 
institutions  of  a  country,  nominally,  at  least,  freer  than 
his  own.  Firmly  convinced  that  her  present  form  of  Gov- 
ernment was,  under  existing  circumstances,  the  best  possi- 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  43 

ble  for  England  and  Englishmen,  he  did  not  assume  as  a 
necessary  corollary,  that  a  Republican  was  the  worst  form 
possible  for  America  and  Americans.  He  was  disposed 
to  accept  the  establishment  of  Republican  Freedom  in  the 
New  World  as  a  providential  dispensation  for  the  good  of 
the  Old ;  not  necessarily  for  that  literal  imitation  whose 
expediency  there  are  so  many  reasons  for  questioning, 
but  for  the  promotion  of  that  gradual  modification  in 
the  privileges,  education,  and  spiritual  growth  of  the  peoples 
which  such  an  example  induces;  to  acquiesce  in  which 
is  to  advance  in  light  and  happiness — to  repel  which  is  to 
retrograde  to  the  darkness  and  misery  of  feudalism. 

With  his  tastes  and  education,  it  seemed  somewhat 
anomalous  that  Robert  Eliot  should  fancy  a  Slaveholder — 
and  yet  true  it  was,  that,  with  the  exceptions  of  Vernon 
and  Dangerfield,  in  each  of  whom  he  found  much  to  esteem 
— the  man  he  liked  best  of  all  he  saw  on  board  the  Assyria, 
was  the  Southern  planter,  Cuthbert  Boynton.  This  arose 
from  a  social  and  not  from  a  moral  sympathy.  Eliot  was 
the  son  of  an  English  country  gentleman.  He  had  been 
accustomed  to  live  among  people  whose  position  was 
assured,  and  who  were  not  therefore  impelled,  as  were 
too  many  of  the  Northerners  around  him,  to  be  con- 
tinually and  in  a  hundred  ludicrous  ways,  vindicating  and 
asserting  themselves.  Secretly,  he  thought  Mrs.  General 
Von  Donk  very  like  an  overdressed  cook,  and  Mr.  Gos- 
samer Von  Donk  uncommonly  like  a  linen-draper's  shop- 
'man.  Most  of  the  professional  men  and  students  were 
terribly  priggish,  and  Mr.  McSwindle,  who  filled  such  a 
high  civic  position,  was  simply  a  drunken  navvy.  Sprigg 
and  Slymer  were  vulgar  enough,  and  the  copies  of  the 
New  York  Orier  and  New  York  Yahoo  he  had  seen  would 
not  stand  editorial  comparison  with  a  third  rate  country 
newspaper,  except  in  slang  and  self-eulogy  in  which  they 
were  unrivalled.  Moreover,  most  of  the  men  were  objec- 
tionable in  a  physiognomical  point  of  view.  They  had 
hard,  cruel  mouths,  eager,  cunning  eyes,  and  cut  their 
beards  after  methods  fearful  to  behold.     They  called  each 


44  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

other  "  Sir"  at  every  third  word,  and  that  with  a  highly 
objectionable  emphasis.  They  talked  over-much  through 
the  nose.  They  called  their  trousers,  "pants,"  and  many 
of  them  chewed  tobacco. 

Such  were  some  of  the  distasteful  attributes  which 
might  have  shocked  a  less  fastidious  observer  than  Eliot, 
but  of  which  none  happened  to  be  illustrated  in  Cuthbert 
Boynton.  The  latter  had  most  of  the  attractive,  and  few 
of  the  repulsive  qualities  which  are  incident  to  the  social 
conditions  among. which  he  was  born.  He  had  been  much 
abroad,  having  spent  some  years  at  German  Universities. 
He  had  also  mixed  with  polite  circles  in  several  European 
capitals.  His  father  had  been  a  man  of  letters,  and  was 
one  of  singular  gentleness  and  humanity.  Although  Cuth- 
bert had  passed  much  of  his  life  where  he  was  born — on  a 
cotton  plantation  worked  by  between  two  and  three  hun- 
dred slaves — it  will  be  readily  perceived  that  circumstances 
had  tended  to  modify  the  peculiar  moral  development 
which  it  is  usual  to  suppose  is  fostered  by  living  among 
black  chattels.  He  had  polish,  reading,  and  unqualified 
ease  and  grace  of  manners.  He  was  gentle  as  a  woman, 
and  brave  as  a  lion.  Heliad  withal  tiie  air  of  independence 
and  assured  position  which  men  acquire  who  live — directly 
or  indirectly — from  the  profits  of  agriculture,  and  not  from 
those  of  trade.  Here  was  the  chief  point  of  sympathy 
for  Robert  Eliot,  and  one  which  led  the  two  young  men, 
differing  materially  in  many  respects,  to  fraternize  not  a 
little  in  this.  So  it  fell  out  that  the  Englishman  had 
accepted  the  other's  hearty  invitation  to  visit  him  at  mid- 
winter on  his  plantation  in  Northern  Alabama. 

Oliver  Vernon  saw  and  understood  the  current  of  Eliot's 
reflections,  as  men  do  who  recal  a  precisely  identical 
experience. 

"  Society  at  the  North,"  he  said,  "  is  in  an  imperfect, 
transitional,  but  growing  state;  that  at  the  South  is  as 
complete  and  perfect,  as,  with  the  institution  of  Slavery,  it 
can  ever  be.  The  South  has  organization,  such  as  it  is, 
the  North  has  none.     The  highest  ideal  society  must  sub- 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  45 

sist  in  an  agricultural,  and  not  in  a  trading  community. 
Whether  Slavery  be  right  or  wrong,  the  section  wherein 
it  exists  has  had  an  advantage  in  this  respect." 

"  This  then,"  mused  Eliot,  "  is  at  least  one  argument  in 
favor  of  the  system." 

"By  no  means,"  replied  Yernon,  "the  system  is  purely 
adventitious  and  irrelevant ;  high  breeding  and  elaborate 
culture  are  no  more  produced  by  Slavery  than  the  rich  soil 
of  the  Mississippi  valley  is  produced  by  Democracy.  Each 
would  still  exist  in  the  total  absence  of  the  other.  The 
staples  of  the  South  are  cultivated  in  large  plantations ; 
were  they  tilled  by  free  laborers  their  owners  would  still 
have  the  same  wealth  and  the  same  leisure,  which  induce 
mental  culture  and  social  amehoration,  as  they  have  at 
present." 

"  But  surely,"  said  Eliot,  "  the  North  is  also  an  agricul- 
tural country." 

"Not  in  so  exclusive  a  degree,"  answered  Vernon,  "  and 
the  subdivisions  are  vastly  more  numerous.  The  commer- 
cial interest  is,  relatively,  far  more  potential  than  in  the 
South.  But  there  are  other  causes  more  depressing  to  our 
social  standards.  The  most  striking  is  the  dogma  of  uni- 
versal social  equality  as  received  by  a  huge,  ignorant,  for- 
eign immigration.  Suffrage  is  generously  extended  to  all 
these  people,  and  they  wield  it  with  remorseless  activity. 
By  sheer  stress  of  numbers,  they  force  into  places  of  power 
and  trust  those  of  their  own  kidney,  until  office  is  degraded 
to  a  point  where  education  and  respectability  refuse  to 
descend  to  it.  Look  at  McSwindle  and  judge.  There  are 
thousands  like  him,  who,  notwithstanding  the  debasing 
tendency  of  the  policy  which  elects  them,  still  demand  and 
receive  a  certain  recognition  which  every  year  is  plunging 
lower  and  lower  the  standards  of  qualification  for  office." 

"I  can  understand  that,"  remarked  Eliot,  "but  I  cannot 
understand  that,  in  a  country  containing  so  much  intelli- 
gence as  yours,  such  an  evil  should  not  be  perceived  and 
remedied." 

"  It  is  being  perceived  more  and  more  every  day,"  said 


46  dangergield's  rest  ;  or 

Vernon,  "  but  there  are  various  reasons  which  militate 
against  the  application  of  a  remedy.  For  example,  so  long 
as  the  foreign  vote  is  thrown  for  the  most  part  in  the  inte- 
rest of  Slavery,  any  legislative  restriction  would  be  diffi- 
cult, if  not  impossible.  Many,  again,  who  are  entirely  con- 
vinced that  universal  suffrage  is  premature,  hesitate  to  say 
so  for  popularity's  sake.  Others,  dissatisfied  with  results, 
are  yet  convinced  that  their  favorite  theory  of  '  the  great- 
est happiness  of  the  greatest  number '  is  inseparable  from 
universal  suffrage.  They  see  not  the  other  side  of  the 
shield,  and  fail  to  apprehend  the  possibility  that  the  great- 
est misery  of  the  greatest  number  may  ultimately  inure 
from  endowing  them  with  privileges  they  know  not  how 
to  use." 

"  And  how  is  the  question  to  be  decided ;  if  the  disease 
cannot  be  restrained,  will  it  not  destroy  the  patient?" 

"I  fear  it  must  run  its  length,"  answered  Vernon,  "and 
then  it  will  become  a  question  of  kill  or  cure.  There  have 
been  for  many  years  the  increasing  signs  of  stupendous 
political  convulsion.  The  unnatural  alliance  between  negro 
slavery  and  the  miscalled  democracy  of  the  North,  rotten 
to  the  core,  will  soon  fall  to  pieces  from  its  own  corruption. 
Then  will  ensue  a  terrible  storm,  which  will  annihilate 
those  who  raise  it,  but  what  it  may  leave  behind  no  one 
can  with  confidence  predict." 

"  The  usual  historical  legacy,  perchance,"  suggested 
Eliot — "  military  despotism." 

"  God  forbid,"  replied  the  old  man  solemnly ;  "  I  have 
great  hopes  in  the  intelligence  of  the  Americans  them- 
selves. Common  schools  are  stronger  than  the  sword,  and 
they  have  wrought  more  in  the  United  States  than  in  any 
nation  whose  i-ecords  have  come  down  to  us.  Military 
despotism  seeks  success  in  the  ignorance,  not  the  education 
of  the  masses.  Its  ingredients  may  exist  among  the  poor 
whites  of  the  slave  country — scarcely  in  New  England  or 
on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio." 

On  the  quarter-deck  sat  Elinor  Grazebrook  and  Cuthbert. 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  47 

Boynton,  talking  of  the  beautiful  panorama  now  swiftly 
passing  before  them,  and  thinking  of  many  other  things 
beside.  Little  Ally  stood  between  them,  and  the  young 
man's  hand  was  playing  with  her  glossy  curls.  Grace  and 
Stephen,  near  by,  were  chatting  unmolested,  for  Gossamer, 
with  little  eye  for  the  picturesque  and  romantic,  was  set- 
tling accounts  with  the  steward,  and  arraying  himself  in  an 
entirely  new  assortment  of  gorgeous  habiliments,  wherein 
to  astonish  the  officials  of  the  Custom  House. 

The  long  spit  of  Sandy  Hook,  with  its  spreading  pro- 
jections of  curtain  and  bastion,  soon  to  grow  up  into 
frowning  battlements  ;  the  lovely  blue  hills  of  Navesink, 
at  once  the  ornament  and  the  guide  of  the  noble  bay  which 
reflects  them ;  the  brimming  Shrewsbury,  jutting  myste- 
riously away  into  the  Jersey  shore  ;  the  labyrinth  of  islets 
and  inlets  clustering  so  inextricably  about  Fire  Island  and 
Jamaica ;  nay,  even  the  classic  precincts  of  Coney  Island 
had  been  scanned  and  admired,  and  the  spectators  were 
now  fixing  their  eyes  upon  the  charming  spot  which 
incoming  English  folk  so  generally  style  "  the  Isle  of 
Wight  of  America." 

"  People  who  live  there,"  remarked  Elinor,  "  are  very 
proud  of  Staten  Island.  The  views  from  it  are  singularly 
fine  in  all  directions,  and  the  interior  itself  is  beautiful. 
There  is,  too,  a  refinement  and  taste  in  the  residences  and 
grounds — an  air  of  solidity  and  completion  not  common  as 
yet  to  rural  places  in  America." 

"  To  my  mind  those  houses  are  too  close  together,"  said 
Cuthbert,  pointing  to  the  mansions  which  crowned  the 
heights  opposite,  "  certainly  too  near  for  the  advantage  of 
either.  A  degree  of  isolation  is  quite  essential  to  the  dig- 
nity of  a  dwelling." 

"  A  dignity  not  easy  to  achieve,"  answered  the  young 
lady,  "  in  the  environs  of  a  crowded  city.  But  your  evil, 
if  it  is  one,  will,  I  fear,  be  increased.  Every  one  says 
New  York  is  growing  so  fast  that  every  bit  of  land  skirt- 
ing the  waters  which  surround  her  must  soon  be  densely 
populated." 


48  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

'"Tis  a  pity,"  said  the  Southerner;  "nothing  spoils  the 
beauty  of  suburbs  so  effectually  as  this  rapid  growth  of 
population  arising  from  immigration.  See !  even  these 
pretty  villages  on  the  shore  have  signs  of  the  squalor  and 
dirt  which  once  we  thought  the  peculiar  characteristics  of 
the  Old- World  towns,  and  not  to  be  thought  of  in  free  and 
happy  America." 

"  Surely  you  should  not  complain  on  that  score,"  argued 
Elinor,  "for  Uncle  Noll  says  the  chief  incentive  for  keep- 
ing this  class  of  population  in  the  great  cities, — that  is,  for 
encouraging  it  to  remain  in  them, — is  that  its  votes  may 
always  be  massed  in  the  interest  of  the  South,  and  over- 
come the  balance  against  her,  which  accumulates  in  our 
agricultural  districts." 

The  young  man  smiled. 

"  We  are  not,"  he  replied,  "  to  say  sooth,  over  proud  of 
our  allies,  but  they  serve  as  useful  a  purpose  as  if  they 
were  far  more  ornamental.  We  don't  need  their  labor,  and 
we  do  need  their  votes.  They're  good  enough  to  give  the 
North  the  former,  and  the  South  the  latter.  Each  section 
gets  what  it  stands  most  in  need  of,  and  it  seems  to  me  a 
very  fair  sort  of  arrangement." 

"But,"  exclaimed  Elinor,  "is  it  either  quite  just  or,  in 
the  long  run,  politic,  to  avail  of  suffrages  given  through 
ignorance?  Can  a  true  Eepublic  long  exist  based  upon 
such  a  principle  ?" 

"  We  think,"  answered  Cuthbert,  "  that  if  the  votes  fall 
on  the  right  side  it  makes  little  difference  whether  or 
no  they  are  cast  in  the  dark.  The  Republic  is  only  pos 
siblc  pending  the  equipoise  created  by  the  South  obtaining 
the  foreign  vote.  When  immigration  materially  slackens, 
or  the  abolition  faction  materially  strengthens,  so  as  to 
overbalance  her,  she  will  abandon  the  Union.  Southern 
men  will  never  consent  to  be  governed  by  the  lawyers  and 
traders  of  the  North." 

"  Have  they  then  no  affection  for  the  Union — no  love 
of  country?" 

"They  regard   the   Union   as    having  been  simply  a 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  49 

bond  of  mutual  interest  and  convenience,  to  be  dissolved 
whenever  those  sentiments  have  lost  their  original  cementing 
force.  Their  patriotism  expresses  itself  for  the  most  part  in 
attachment  to  their  individual  States^  not  to  any  Union  of 
them.  The  former  they  regard  as  concrete  and  permanent 
realities — thelatter  as  an  abstract  and  temporary  expedient." 

"Ah,  but  we  of  the  North  have  no  such  idea.  I  was 
taught,  even  as  a  schoolgirl,  that,  from  the  Lakes  to  the 
Gulf,  all  was  equally  my  country ;  that  the  Mississippi  was  the 
same  to  us  as  the  Hudson ;  that  Maine  and  Alabama  were 
alike  the  same ;  that  Louisiana,  Florida,  Texas,  California, 
each  and  all,  whether,  the  United  States  acquired  them  by 
purchase,  by  warfare,  or  by  cession,  became  part  and  parcel 
of  our  country  just  as  if  they  had  been  among  the  original 
thirteen  colonies.  I  was  taught  that  the  blood  and  treasure 
of  the  succeeding  generations  had  been  added  to  those 
of  the  first,  for  the  purpose  of  creating  one  great,  whole, 
and  glorious  country  for  the  future,  and  homogeneous  like 
France  or  England,  only  far  more  extensive  and  powerful. 
I  believed  that  such  a  purpose  was  implied  by  our  Constitu- 
tion, expounded  by  our  Statesmen,  accepted  and  ratified  by 
our  whole  people  ;  and  that  whatever  changes  or  modifica- 
tions might  occur,  induced  by  new  exigencies,  denser  popu- 
lations, higher  progress,  we  were  still  to  remain,  now  and 
for  ever,  one  nation." 

"Truly,  a  grand  Ideal,"  said  Cuthbert,  rather  sadly, 
"  but  suppose,  my  dear  Miss  Grazebrook,  that  such  a  per- 
petuation is  greatly  to  the  interest  of  one  principal  section 
and  greatly  to  the  detriment  of  the  other  ?" 

"The  discrepancies  could  be  reconciled,"  said  Elinor; 
"surely,  in  enlightened  days  like  ours,  such  difierences 
could  be  amicably  settled.  If  men  in  power  are  really 
and  truly  anxious  to  do  right,  that  is ;  but  if  some  of  them 
are  determined  to  perpetuate  and  spread  a  monstrous  wrong, 
and  are  bent  on  believing,  or  assuming  to  believe,  that 
their  moral  and  intellectual,  as  well  as  material  prosperity 
depends  on  such  a  policy,  why  then,  I  suppose  that — that — " 

She  hesitated  with  a  scrupulous  delicacy  to  complete  the 

3 


50  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

sentence,  conscious  of  having  become  a  shade  more  earnest 
than  was  usual  with  her,  and  averse,  with  her  high-minded 
instinct,  to  inflict  even  a  trace  of  pain  where  it  was  impos- 
sible that  it  should  be  resented.  Cuthbert  saw  her  embar- 
rassment, and  instantly  sought  to  relieve  it. 

"  Pray  conclude,  Miss  Grazebrook,"  said  he,  with  perfect 
good-nature,  "  pray  conclude.  If  I  can't  agree  with  the 
Oracle,  its  Priestess  assures  it  a  respectful  attention.  In  the 
event  of  an  ultimate  clashing  of  interests,   you  suppose — " 

"I  suppose  and  believe,"  said  Elinor  steadily,  "that, 
in  such  a  case,  the  side  where  Eight  is,  will  assuredly 
triumph." 

"  I  shan't  quarrel  with  that  prophecy,"  cried  the  young 
man,  laughing  ;  "  if  our  people  were  confident  of  its  fulfil 
ment,  they  would  be  perfectly  content." 

Elinor  saw  his  meaning,  but  she  did  not  resume  the  sub- 
ject, and  Cuthbert  Boynton  himself  lapsed  into  silence. 
For,  indeed,  he  had  commenced  to  feel  an  interest  in  the 
pale  and  thoughtful  girl  before  him,  which  the  indolent 
beauties  of  his  native  South  had  hitherto  failed  to  excite. 
In  a  worldly  sense  he  was  well  aware  that  he  was  an 
excellent  parti  for  greater  wealth  and  more  unquestioned 
social  position  than  Elinor  Grazebrook  could  lay  claim  to  ; 
but  he  had  quite  enough  penetration  to  perceive  that  such 
considerations  would  have  as  little  weight  Avith  the  lady 
herself  as  with  Oliver  Vernon,  who  stood  to  her  in  the 
relation  of  a  parent.  The  strength  of  her  convictions  on  a 
particular  subject  had  been  evident  in  various  conversa- 
tions like  the  foregoing,  but  he  did  not  apprehend  therein 
an  ob^acle  of  a  formidable  character  to  the  hopes  he  had 
begun  to  cherish.  A  woman  who  felt  and  spoke  as  she 
did  was  certainly  unfit  to  become  the  mistress  of  a  South- 
ern plantation.  On  the  other  hand,  he  knew  of  many 
highly  cultivated  young  women  of  the  North,  who  had 
quitted  atmospheres  as  full  of  prejudice  and  misconception 
as  Elinor's,  to  see  their  error,  and  become  warmly  attached 
to  the  "  institution,"  when  surrounded  by  its  genial  and 
enlarging  influences.     Possibly  she  might  be  induced  to 


BEFOKE   THE   STORM.  51 

add  to  their  number.  Altogether,  he  was  in  a  state  of  no 
little  doubt  and  anxiety. 

Mrs.  Von  Donk,  in  her  detective  capacity  of  managing 
mamma,  watched  Cuthbert's  manner  to  Miss  Grazebrook 
with  disgust  and  indignation.  It  was  her  unfailing  habit 
and  accomplishment  instantly  to  catch  the  scent  whenever 
there  was  anything  matrimonial  in  the  wind.  Men  who 
might  otherwise  have  remained  quite  unmolested,  she 
straightway  pursued  and  worried  if  she  saw,  or  fancied  she 
saw,  a  trace  of  such  a  purpose  in  their  bearing  towards  any 
of  the  opposite  sex.  "A  pretty  pass  indeed,"  she  flustered 
into  the  ear  of  Staggers,  "for  a  minx  like  Nelly  Graze- 
brook,  whose  father  drank  himself  to  death,  and  whose 
mother  was — well,  no  better  than  she  should  be — to  be  set- 
ting her  cap  at  young  Boynton,  whose  people  had  been  in 
Congress,  and  a  family  almost  as  good  as  the  Von  Donks 
themselves.     Nelly  Grazebrook,  indeed!" 

"  How  much  d'ye  spose  she's  wuth  ?"  asked  Staggers, 
reflectively. 

Mrs.  Von  Donk  didn't  know.  A  paltry  ten  thousand  or 
so,  she  had  heard.  She  had  warned  Gossamer  not  to  be  too 
intimate  with  her.  Grace  Vernon,  of  course,  was  a  differ- 
ent thing.  She  would  have  all  old  Noll's  money,  and 
they  were  very  nice  people — just  the  thing  for  Gossy. 
Cuthbert  Boynton  wasn't  going  south  until  winter,  and  Mr. 
Staggers  must  manage  to  bring  him  to  the  house  in  Fifth 
Avenue,  and,  if  possible,  to  Newport.  Then  there  was 
that  Steve  Dangerfield, — there  was  something  queer  about 
him.  See  how  he  was  playing  with  Grace  Vernon's  hand- 
kerchief— Grace  Vernon,  whom  she  regarded  as  almost  her 
daughter-in-law  already  !  Mrs.  Von  Donk  was  glad  for 
one  that  the  passage  was  so  nearly  over. 

Stephen  Dangerfield  was,  in  truth,  as  Mr.  Staggers  con- 
ceded, "going  it  rather  strong"  with  pretty  Grace.  Pie 
had  that  on  his  mind  which  made  him  nervously  solicitous 
to  reach  his  home ;  but  he  had  most-  certainly  begun  to 
find  consolation,  as  the  passage  drew  towards  its  close,  in 
the  reflection  that  she  would  be  very  near  indeed  to  that 


52  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

home ;  so  near,  in  fact,  that  his  black  mare,  Vixen,  would 
take  him  from  The  Rest  to  Uplands  in  thirty  minutes. 
This  was  a  consideration  happily  unknown  to  Mrs.  Von 
Donk,  but  of  which  Grace  herself  was  very  clearly  advised. 
Oliver  Vernon  yearned  to  be  once  more  at  his  quiet  man 
sion.  He  had  numerous  poor  friends  and  pensioners  in  the 
country  round,  and,  although  he  had  left  in  his  old  servant, 
David  Greenwood,  a  faithful  steward,  he  had  a  good  man's 
earnest  wish  to  see  for  himself  that  the  happiness  and  com- 
fort he  was  wont  to  spread  about  him  had  met  neither 
check  nor  hindrance,  or,  if  they  had,  to  set  about  the 
remedy.  There  was,  too,  another  suspense  hanging  about 
his  heart — a  doubt  which,  even  if  it  brought  pain,  he 
sought  to  have  resolved.     But  we  will  not  anticipate. 

In  another  hour  the  doubts  and  fears  of  the  busy  little 
world  of  the  Assyria  were  at  an  end,  so  far  as  their  life  in 
her  was  concerned  ;  for  the  stately  vessel  lay  safely  by  her 
wharf  at  Jersey  City,  and  her  passengers  were  scattered  far 
and  wide  in  the  seething  vortex  of  the  great  neighboring 
capital. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IT  w£ts  a  dark  afternoon  in  early  September,  and  the  air 
was  dull  and  heavy,  as  if  waiting  in  sullen  expectation 
for  the  rain,  which  had  been  threatening  for  some  hours, 
but  had  not  yet  commenced  to  fall.  Masses  of  lowering 
cloud  obscured  the  sky,  and  ever  and  anon  a  fitful  gleam 
from  the  sinking  sun  straggled  through  chance  rifts  in 
the  dusky  canopy,  and  served  to  increase  the  gloom  it 
interrupted.  Such  a  transient  ray  was  just  gilding  the 
chimneys  and  roof-points  of  an  irregular  and  picturesque 
building  which  crowned  the  summit  of  one  of  the  most 
romantic  portions  of  those  lofty  cliffs  which  the  early 
explorers  of  the  Hudson  called  The  Palisades.     The  noble 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  53 

river  flowed  far  below,  making  a  course  almost  due  south, 
until  it  mingled  in  plain  view  with  the  waters  of  that 
majestic  bay  which  is  the  glory  and  the  strength  of  the 
great  city  of  the  West.  The  mansion  was  old  and  weather- 
worn, part  of  it  having  been  built  not  long  after  the  hopes 
of  the  Stuarts,  elated  by  the  fall  of  Mons  and  of  Namur, 
had  been  so  cruelly  crushed  by  the  disaster  of  La  Hogue. 
The  Dangerfield  family  had  been  among  those  which 
adhered  to  the  standard  of  the  exiled  house,  and  had  been 
rewarded  for  its  long-suffering  constancy  on  the  restoration 
of  Charles,  by  a  considerable  grant  of  land  in  the  distant 
colony  named  after  his  unfortunate  brother.  Their  sub- 
sequent attachment  to  the  cause  of  the  latter  exposed  them 
to  suspicion  and  inconvenience,  and,  although  no  actual 
step  had  been  taken  to  his  prejudice,  the  ancestor  of  the 
present  family  found  it  prudent  to  put  the  ocean  between 
the  ministers  of  William  and  Mary  and  himself,  soon 
after  the  fall  of  Limerick.  After  a  few  years  of  doubt  and 
wandering,  he  had  settled  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson, 
and  built  a  dwelling  on  the  lovely  spot  which  was  to  prove 
the  future  homestead  of  his  race.  His  life  had  been  one 
of  trouble  and  excitement,  and  he  soon  grew  to  cling  with 
a  warm  attachment  to  the  tranquil  shades  and  beautiful 
scenery  which  surrounded  his  new  abode.  He  improved, 
set  out  trees,  reared  cattle,  and  passed  his  days  in  a  peace- 
ful calm  which  strongly  contrasted  with  the  struggle  and 
turmoil  of  his  early  life.  Thus  it  was  that  he  called  his 
home  "  The  Rest,"  and  instilled  into  his  growing  children 
that  affection  for  it  which  he  had  learned  to  cherish,  and 
which  they  in  turn  transmitted  to  those  who  came  after.  In 
this  manner  it  happened  that  the  estate  had  remained  to  the 
old  name  for  many  generations,  and  had  escaped  by  a  rare 
fortune  much  of  the  subdivision  and  mutilation  which  are  so 
common  in  the  absence  of  a  law  of  entail.  As  time  rolled 
on,  people  got  to  think  the  family  tenure  as  firmly  esta- 
blished as  the  giant  cliffs  themselves ;  and  that  the  latter 
were  quite  as  likely  to  be  overturned  as  that  one  not  of  the 
name  should  ever  hold  or  occupy  "  Dangerfield's  Eest." 


54  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

And,  indeed,  the  family  attachment  was  justified,  for 
there  are  few  situations  as  lovely  even  in  a  region  where 
nature  has  been  so  bountiful.  The  view  which  stretches 
on  one  side  to  the  Atlantic,  extends  on  the  other  to  the 
stately  Catskills.  Intermediate,  and  on  either  hand,  courses 
the  broad  stream,  the  beauty  of  whose  banks  has  been 
so  greatly  extolled,  and  which  can  hardly  be  exaggerated. 
Villages  and  spires  innumerable  impart  life  and  variety  to 
the  landscape,  and  the  vast  city  in  the  distance,  with  its 
suggestion  of  ceaseless  activity,  gives  zest  to  the  enjoyment 
of  the  seclusion  from  which  it  is  surveyed.  Countless 
vessels  glide  in  every  direction,  from  the  tiny  sloop  with 
its  soaring  spread  of  canvas,  to  the  gigantic  steamer  which 
seems  yearly  to  be  growing  in  size.  Far  away  over  Man- 
hattan, the  winding  East  Eiver,  connecting  New  York 
Harbor  with  the  opening  Sound,  adds  to  the  panorama 
and  enhances  its  living  interest.  Looking  westward,  the 
spectacle,  if  less  diversified,  has  its  own  peculiar  attractions. 
There  can  be  seen  pictures  of  rural  beauty  in  sunny  fields 
and  deep-green  woods,  reaching  in  placid  alternation  clear 
beyond  Hackensack  until  they  melt  into  the  hazy  horizon. 

We  have  said  that  the  mansion  was  old  and.  rambling, 
but  it  was  substantial  enough,  notwithstanding.  The  origi- 
nal building  had  been  of  rough  stone,  and  was  built  in  the 
form  of  a  parallelogram,  with  a  low  tower  at  one  end. 
Three  generations  back,  a  wing  had  been  added  at  the  end 
opposite  the  tower,  and  which,  as  the  main  edifice  faced 
toward  the  South,  ran  parallel  with  the  river,  and  looked 
out  upon  it.  The  fiithcr  of  the  present  occupant  had  con- 
structed a  similar  wing  at  the  tower  end,  which,  for  some 
reason  of  his  own,  he  had  built  of  brick.  There  was,  how- 
ever, much  shade  in  that  immediate  vicinity,  caused  not 
only  by  deciduous  trees  of  artificial  growth,  but  by  some 
noble  evergrecjis  which  were  indigenous  :  and,  thus  protect- 
ed, masses  of  English  ivy  had  been  in  course  of  time  in- 
duced to  spread  over  a  great  portion  of  the  exterior  fa9ade, 
and  were  even  commencing  to  encroach  upon  the  tower. 
The  central  part  of  the  pile  was  two  stories  in  height,  but 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  '       55 

the  stone  wing  had  been  built  rather  higher,  and  the  brick 
one  slightly  lower  than  the  original  structure.  The  whole 
presented  an  incongruous  but  picturesque  appearance, 
which  was  increased  by  the  odd  jumble  of  styles,  there 
being  features  which  might  have  been  claimed  by  the 
Elizabethan  and  Tudor  architects  respectively.  Thus,  the 
old  building  had  deeply  embayed  windows  at  either  end, 
and  long  galleries  reaching  through  its  length, — but  the 
walls  were  surmounted  by  low  battlements,  as  was  also  the 
tower,  and  the  principal  entrances  were  formed  by  flattened 
arches.  A  piazza  which  ran  around  the  outer  sides,  thus 
forming  three  sides  of  a  quadrangle,  heightened  the  com- 
posite character  of  the  mansion,  and  augmented  the  ano- 
malous features  which  shocked  the  disciples  of  harmonious 
and  exacting  taste. 

The  house  stood  in  a  comparatively  open  space  of,  per- 
haps, four  acres,  at  one  extremity  of  which  were  the  stables. 
The  cliff  formed  one  boundary  of  this  space,  its  crest  being 
about  two  hundred  yards  from,  and  much  lower  than,  the 
foundations  of  the  building.  A  strong  fence  constituted  a 
protection  from  the  dangers  of  the  precipice,  being  placed 
at  some  distance  from  the  extreme  brink,  and  backed  by  a 
dense  hedge  of  buckthorn.  The  remaining  boundaries  of 
the  lawn  consisted  of  groves  of  oak  and  hickory  mingled 
with  many  fine  specimens  of  the  natural  evergreen  common 
to  the  high  land  of  the  region.  A  carriage  road  ran  in 
easy  curves  from  the  stables  to  the  main  entrance,  and 
thence  passed  through  the  grove  to  the  southward,  striking 
the  highway  at  a  distance  of  a  third  of  a  mile.  Around 
the  house  were  many  flower-beds  of  tasteful  form  and 
arrangement,  separated  by  winding  paths,  and  protected 
by  well  trimmed  box,  but  most  of  the  space  between  the 
building  and  the  cliff  consisted  of  smooth  rolled  lawn 
which  sloped  downwards  to  the  fence. 

In  the  stone  wing  facing  the  east  was  the  library,  the 
windows  of  which  opened  on  the  piazza,  from  which  again, 
at  a  point  close  by,  a  low  flight  of  steps  descended  to  the 
garden.     The  library  had  been  a  favorite  apartment  with 


56  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

the  Dangerfields  ever  since  its  construction.  It  was  a  large 
and  old-fashioned,  but  handsome  apartment,  with  bay  win- 
dows, and  finished  within  of  sturdy  unpolished  oak.  The 
book-cases,  chairs,  and  tables  were  all  of  this  material,  and 
as  most  of  the  many  volumes  on  the  shelves  wore  antique 
and  sombre  bindings,  the  room  might  have  looked  gloomy 
but  for  the  relief  of  the  green  morocco  covering  the  seats 
and  writing  desks.  There  was  a  trace  of  warmth  too 
in  the  lengthy  draperies  which  fell  from  the  embrasures 
of  the  windows  and  looped  up  at  the  sides.  The  windows 
were  so  deeply  embayed,  that  there  was  ample  room  at  the 
sides  ibr  sofas,  without  impeding  passage  to  the  sashes 
which  opened  on  the  piazza. 

In  this  room,  Martin  Dangerfield  had  passed  most  of  his 
waking  hours  for  the  past  fifteen  years.  He  had  been 
rather  wild  in  earlier  life, — had  gambled  and  drank  hard, 
and  his  name  had  been  associated  with  many  questionable 
freaks  and  adventures, — yet  these  dissipations  had  never 
partaken  of  a  character  which  the  conventional  world  calls 
dishonorable.  He  had  always  paid  his  debts,  although 
they  had  been  of  the  heaviest,  and  had  often  subscribed 
liberally  to  charities.  He  had  always  kept  a  pew  in  the 
village  chuch,  and  occasionally  occupied  it.  If  he  was 
supposed  to  have  lost  heavily  at  the  gaming  table,  he  was 
known  to  have  ample  resources,  and  none  could  say  he 
was  niggardly  in  drawing  on  them.  He  was  rigid  on  the 
point  of  honor,  and  regarded  his  family  name  and  estate  as 
trusts  to  be  upheld  and  retained  as  spotless  and  unimpaired 
for  his  descendants  as  he  had  received  them  from  his  ances- 
tors. Up  to  the  age  of  forty-five  he  had  been  what  is 
called  a  free  liver  in  the  largest  sense  of  the  term  ;  but  at 
that  time  he  had  suddenly  changed  his  mode  of  life,  and 
it  was  common  to  say  that  Mr.  Dangerfield  had  "  reform- 
ed." Whatever  he  did  in  secret,  no  one  of  course  could 
tell :  but  certain  it  was,  there  were  no  more  card  parties,  no 
more  drinking  bouts,  no  more  riotous  company  at  The  Rest. 

It  was  generally  credited  that  the  change  was  brought 
about  by  the  conduct  of  his  only  son,  Stephen.    The  latter, 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  57 

a  volatile,  passionate,  and  very  handsome  lad,  had  certainly 
been  treated  capriciously  and  sometimes  unjustly  by  his 
father.  His  mother,  unhappily  for  him,  had  died  when 
Stephen  was  not  yet  ten  years  of  age,  and  Martin  Danger- 
field  was  choleric,  domineering,  and  often  very  tipsy.  Such 
a  father,  however  well  meaning  or  affectionate,  will  seldom 
fail  to  damp  the  happiness  and  warp  the  character  of  a  sen- 
sitive and  high-spirited  child,  and  the  present  case  was  no 
exception.  Some  bitter  words  and  an  exhibition  of  bruta- 
lity one  night,  were  followed  the  next  morning  by  the  dis- 
appearance of  young  Stephen,  when  he  was  just  turned 
of  fifteen.  In  the  heat  of  his  resentment,  the  boy  made 
bis  way  to  New  York,  and  being  large  and  strong  for  his 
age,  he  had  no  difiiculty  in  shipping  for  a  voyage  to  China. 
The  vessel  sailed  before  the  father  had  succeeded  in  tracing 
the  runaway,  who,  however,  left  a  letter  explaining  what 
he  had  done.  When  Stephen  returned,  he  found  his  father 
a  changed  man.  Their  meeting  was  affectionate,  and  their 
relations  had  been  no  less  so  ever  since.  From  a  royster- 
ing,  arrogant  profligate,  Martin  Dangerfield  had  become  a 
quiet,  timid  recluse.  The  son  never  knew  him  to  raise  his 
voice  in  anger  since  the  night  before  he  absconded  from  the 
parental  roof  He  deferred  to  the  young  man  in  a  fashion 
that  was  almost  womanish,  and  seemed  bent  on  making 
him  forget  former  asperities  in  the  excess  of  his  present 
gentleness. 

Martin  Dangerfield  was  now  about  sixty  years  of  age, 
but  he  looked  much  older.  His  frame  was  bowed,  his  hair 
was  white,  and  there  were  deep  furrows  on  his  brow. 
Naturally  of  a  powerful  constitution,  he  had  been  some- 
what shaken  by  habits  which  had  extended  too  far  on  in 
life  for  the  effect  to  be  altogether  eradicated  by  subsequent 
abstinence.  His  face  wore  an  habitual  expression  which 
was  not  really  natural  to  it — for  it  indicated  both  depreca- 
tion and  timidity.  It  was  singular  to  see  almost  the  self- 
same features — making  allowance  for  difference  of  years— - 
expressing  frank  confidence  and  unshrinking  courage  in 
the  countenance  of  the  son. 

3* 


58  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

Stepben  had  spent  much  of  his  time  from  home,  for  in 
sooth  there  was  little  of  society  or  amusement  there,  and 
he  was  fond  of  both.  He  had  read  law,  but  seemed  disin- 
clined to  settle  down  to  practice.  The  love  of  travel  and 
adventure  was  still  strong  upon  him,  and  as  his  father  was 
sufficiently  liberal  in  money  matters,  and  his  future  was 
assured,  he  felt  justified  in  following  his  inclinations.  Yet, 
although  there  had  never  been  a  difference  between  the 
two  as  to  money,  and  although  Martin  Dangerfield  was  not 
chary  of  his  confidence  in  other  things,  the  old  man  had 
never  admitted  his  son  into  the  secrets  of  his  affairs,  or 
acquainted  him  with  the  extent  of  his  resources.  Stephen 
knew  of  course  that  there  were  certain  farms  and  dwellings 
and  stores,  which  brought  in  fixed  rentals.  But  he  knew 
nothing  definite  of  the  aggregate,  or  as  to  whether  there 
existed  incumbrances.  It  was  only  within  a  few  weeks' 
time  from  that  of  the  opening  of  this  history  that  he  veri- 
fied a  suspicion  that  his  father  had  for  years  been  in  the 
habit  of  making  large  disbursements  for  unknown  pur- 
poses, but  which  had  no  reference  to  the  keeping  up  of  his 
establishment,  and  which  brought  no  apparent  return. 

Martin  Dangerfield  was  sitting  in  his  library,  and — an 
unusual  thing  for  him  in  these  days — he  was  receiving  a 
visitor.  This  personage,  a  tall,  dark,  handsome  man,  might 
have  been  forty-five  years  of  age.  He  wore  the  dress  of  a 
gentleman,  but  there  was  a  certain  insolence  in  his  man- 
ner, and  a  restless  expression  in  his  sarcastic  and  striking 
countenance,  that  a  physiognomist  would  have  regarded 
with  suspicion.  He  had  risen,  too,  during  a  conversation 
which  had  grown  somewhat  heated,  and  was  leaning  over 
the  back  of  a  chair  with  extended  hand,  and  one  foot 
planted  on  the  seat  itself 

"  You  must  call  off  your  dog,  Martin  Dangerfield,"  said 
the  man  coarsely.  "  I'm  not  so  good-natured  as  I  used  to 
be,  and  I  might  do  him  a  mischief.  He's  safe  enough  now 
— thanks  to  his  own  blundering  folly — but  he'll  soon  be 
back  again,  and  on  the  scent.  It's  your  business  to  tie  him 
up — I'm  going  to  stay  here  now — here,  do  you  understand? 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  59 

and  I  haven't  been  through  what  I  have  to  be  badgered 
and  hunted  by  a  whelp  like  that." 

A  crimson  spot  burned  in  the  old  man's  withered  cheek 
as  he  retorted : 

"  What  he  did,  he  did  of  his  own  accord.  In  God's 
name,  why  should  /  wish  him  to  be  mixed  up  in  the  busi- 
ness !  He  found,  without  my  connivance,  that  some  one  was 
injuring  me — making  my  life  miserable — impairing  the  for- 
tune which  is  his  as  well  as  mine.  He  begged  for  explana- 
tions— I  refused  them.  Then  he  thought — you  can  say 
how  justly — that  a  designing  adventurer  was  practising  on 
the  fears  or  credulity  of  a  weak  old  man.  Son-like  he 
tried  to  probe  the  mystery  to  apply  a  remedy." 

"  He'll  find  it  sorry  work  if  he  probes  any  further.  I 
don't  want  to  be  annoyed,  and  I  don't  mean  to  be.  I  came 
back  to  be  comfortable  and  easy — in  a  word,  to  enjoy  my- 
self— and  you  must  see  to  it  that,  at  all  events,  none  of 
your  breed  crosses  my  path." 

"  But  why  come  back  at  all, — surely  the  world  is  wide 
enough  for  both  of  us.  I  did  my  best  to  assure  your 
future;  you  promised  to  remain," 

"  Ah!"  said  the  other,  with  a  malignant  smile,  "that  was 
some  years  ago.  I  had  very  good  reasons  for  not  staying 
here,  and  very  good  reasons  to  go  out  there.  Noio  I  have 
very  good  reasons  to  come  back  here,  and  very  good  rea- 
sons not  to  stay  out  there." 

"  I  thought  you  had  made  a  great  deal  of  money,  and 
that — that  the  society  there  was  to  your  taste." 

"  Oh !  there  was  gold  enough — that  is,  at  first — but  it 
was  with  me  as  with  most — making  isn't  keeping.  A  man 
who  banks  a  game  has  to  take  the  chances;  and  when 
there  is  no  limit  and  heavy  betting,  the  bank  sometimes 
breaks." 

"  They  told  me  you  were  settled  at  Sonora ;  that  you 
had  a  ranche  there,  and  a  Spanish  wife.  I  never  dreamed 
of  your  coming  here  again,"  complained  Martin  Danger- 
field. 

"  You  underrated  my  personal  attachment  for  yourself. 


60  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

I  always  meant  to  come  back,  and  spend  the  evening  of 
mj  days  with  you,"  returned  his  guest  more  cheerfully,  as 
he  marked  the  tone  of  weary  distress  with  which  the  old 
man  spoke.  "  I  got  sick  of  San  Francisco — too  many  of 
the  same  trade.  Sonora  was  capital  for  a  time.  We 
might  have  brought  away  a  couple  of  hundred  thousand. 
But  my  partner,  Grayson,  was  imprudent — irregular,  you 
know.  One  night  there  was  a  stupid  mistake — something 
heavy  on  case-cards  ;  he  was  dealing,  and  undermarked 
the  people  betting;  thought  they  were  mere  roughs  just  in 
from  the  diggings  ;  so  there  was  a  card  or  two  slipped. 
The  heaviest  loser  saw  the  little  game,  and  happened  to  be 
plucky  and  resolute.  He  laid  hold  of  a  box  full  of  gold 
coin  and  checks,  and  swore  he'd  have  back  his  money. 
There  was  a  scuffle  and  a  rush,  and  the  touters  and  pick- 
ers-up-of-sleepers  jumped  in,  and  bang!  went  half-a-dozen 
shots.  Jack  Grayson  shot  two  of  the  men,  and  got  all  his 
money  back,  but  it  cost  him  dear.  People  were  getting 
disagreeable  about  such  things.  The  friends  of  the  chaps 
who  were  shot  went  about  the  neighborhood,  and  kicked 
up  a  tremendous  row.  At  about  three  o'clock  they  went 
and  pulled  poor  Jack  out  of  bed  at  the  Chrysolite  Hotel, 
and  the  first  thing  I  saw  in  the  morning,  as  I  rode  in  from 
my  ranche,  was  him  hanging  from  a  flume  which  crosses 
the  Columbia  road.  Then  I  suddenly  remembered  that  I 
had  very  important  business  at  Stockton,  which  had  been 
left  over  a  long  time ;  and  I  turned  my  horse's  head,  and 
gallopped  westward." 

"  But  why  should  they  harm  you — you  were  not  respon- 
sible for  the  m — misfortune  of  Grayson." 

"  Why,  you  see  Judge  Lynch  isn't  always  so  technical 
in  his  expoundings  and  constructions  as  Judge  Kent  or 
Judge  Story.  Here  a  man  must  be  proved  to  be  particeps 
criminis — there  they  occasionally  take  it  for  granted — a 
vast  difference,  Martin  Dangerfield." 

"  I  understand  you,"  said  the  old  man  gloomily,  "but 
did  this  involve  the  loss  of  your  accumulations?" 

"  Only  in  part.     There  was  trouble  about  dividing  and 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  61 

settling  Grayson's  estate — two  or  three  wives  among  other 
things.  I  didn't  fancy  going  back  to  Sonora,  so  I  got  a 
trusty  man  to  go  there  to  attend  to  my  interests  in  the 
matter — which  he  did  very  effectually  by  bagging  all 
the  money  he  could  find,  and  taking  the  Overland  Eoute 
home.  However  I  had  other  resources — ^some  land  and 
buildings  I  contrived  to  sell  and  get  the  money  for,  and 
then  returned  to  San  Francisco." 

"  I  sent  you  two  drafts  for  $5000,  each,  and  promised 
you  others  if  you  remained  there." 

"  I  couldn't.  Had  I  wished  it  ever  so  much  I  couldn't. 
You  see  I  was  rather  in  the  dumps  about  my  troubles  and 
losses,  and  I  had  no  heart  to  turn  to  anything  except  '  fight- 
ing the  tiger.'  Then  things  grew  worse  and  I  was  drawn  into 
one  or  two  little  scrapes — quiet  enough,  but  some  people 
knew  of  them.  I  had  a  very  promising  little  concern  in 
Sansome  street,  and  seemed  to  be  picking  up  again,  when  the 
scoundrels  of  city  officials  opened  up  all  my  tracks  and 
cleaned  me  of  every  dollar  to  escape  publicity  and  prose- 
cution." 

"  But  they  did  not  molest  you  further — and  as  you 
received  funds  from  me  you  were  not  compelled  to  leave." 

"  That's  exactly  it ;  /was  compelled  to  leave.  You  see 
there  arose  a  sort  of  mutual  admiration  society  there  which 
took  a  very  philanthropic  interest  in  my  welfare.  They 
called  themselves  the  'Vigilance  Committee.'  Two  of 
them  waited  on  me  one  day,  and,  after  expressing  in  a 
general  way  their  admiration  for  my  character,  and  their 
interest  in  my  future  prospects,  they  favored  me  with 
a  courteous  invitation  to  embark  in  the  Brig  Sarah  Jane 
which  was  to  sail  that  evening  for  Mazatlan." 

"  And  you  then  made  up  your  mind  to  return  hither — 
hither  where  your  presence  has  already  produced  so  much 
misery." 

"I  then  made  up  my  mind  that  I  had  been  a  great 
jackass  ever  to  go  away  at  all.  Setting  inclination  aside, 
it  was  clearly  my  duty  to  stay  here  and  be  a  comfort  to 
you.     But  although  I  could  not  recall  the  past,  I  might, 


62  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

in  a  measure,  atone  it,  by  devoting  to  you  the  remainder 
of  my  future.  Such  is  my  intention.  I  made  my  way  in 
a  coasting  vessel  to  Realejo,  crossed  to  Grey  town,  steamed 
to  New  Orleans,  came  up  the  river,  and  here  I  am." 

"  I  can  do  no  more  for  you  here,  than  in  either  of  the 
places  you  name." 

"  No,  but  you  are  more  certain  to  do  it,  and  you  are 
also  much  more  prompt.  It  suits  me  to  have  you  prompt. 
In  the  transaction  your  son  unfortunately  got  wind  of, 
he  would  not  have  done  so  had  you  not  been  so  dilatory ; 
if  you  are  dilatory  in  the  future  he  will  be  likely  to  learn 
more — that  would  be  unpleasant." 

The  old  man  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "  In  a  word, 
James  Kirkwood,"  he  cried  querulously,  "  in  a  word,  what 
do  you  want  ?" 

"  In  a  word,"  replied  the  other  firmly,  "  money,  and 
plenty  of  it.  None  of  your  pitiful  hundreds,  but  thou- 
sands when  I  want  them.  Then  I  want  social  considera- 
tion, or  at  least  as  much  of  it  as  your  countenance  can  give 
me.  I  think  of  settling  for  life,  and  there  are  many  old 
and  wealthy  families  in  this  vicinity  with  eligible  and  desir- 
able daughters.  I  must  have  a  suite  of  apartments  here, 
in  this  house,  to  which  I  may  come  when  so  disposed. 
This  place  suits  me.  I  need  rest,  and  I  propose  to  come 
here  to  take  it." 

"  As  to  money,"  responded  Martin  Dangerfield,  "  no 
fortune  would  long  stand  your  extortion.  Have  you  the 
remotest  idea  of  what  you  have  had  ?  Near  a  hundred 
thousand.  Shall  I  leave  my  boy  a  beggar  for  your  sake  ? 
You  are  determined  to  drive  me  to  extremities.  Do  so, 
and  you  will  have  nothing.  I  cannot  supply  your  extra- 
vagance at  the  rate  you  demand.     I  have  not  the  means." 

"  You  can  get  them.     Here  is  the  place " 

''  Never  !"  exclaimed  the  old  man  angrily,  "  I'll  not 
mortgage  a  rood !  You  may  strip  me  of  every  dollar  of 
money,  but  I  will  not  imperil  one  inch  of  my  son's  inheri- 
tance." 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Kirkwood  in  a  reflective  tone,  and 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  63 

taking  out  a  set  of  tablets,  "  he  sailed  on  the  seventeenth. 
He  will  return  as  soon  after  he  arrives  as  possible.  Conse- 
quently we  may  expect  him  at  furthest  by  the  twenty-fifth. 
Say  three  weeks  hence." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  cried  Dangerfield  sharply. 
"  I  can  put  it  out  of  his  power  to  interfere.  I  can  make 
over  the  property  to  trustees,  and  set  you  at  defiance." 

"  You  have  talked  in  this  manner  before,  but  you  have 
never  carried  out  your  threats.  Your  sou  will  wish  to 
marry  some  day.  'Tis  high  time  to  think  of  it  now. 
Have  you  considered  this  side  of  the  question  ?  You  are 
proud  of  this  spot,  the  home  and  heritage  of  your  family ; 
who  is  to  inherit  it  after  your  son  ?  where  is  the  heir  who 
is  to  perpetuate  this  unsullied  race  ?" 

The  old  man  shuddered  slightly,  and  there  was  a  tremor 
in  his  voice,  but  his  words  were  resolute  : 

"  Sneer  as  you  will,  Kirkwood,  and  mingle  sneers  with 
threats.  There  are  limits  to  my  docility,  bounds  to  my 
weakness,  and  this  is  one  of  them.  Come  what  may  the 
place  shall  never  be  mortgaged  or  sold." 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen.  Possibly  I  may  not  require 
that  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  friendship.  But  heed  me 
well,  Martin  Dangerfield,"  he  continued,  abandoning  the 
tone  of  badinage  he  had  for  some  time  employed,  "  hence- 
forth there  is  no  need  of  wrangling  words.  I  come  not 
here  to  argue  and  entreat,  but  to  command  and  to  enforce. 
Eemember,"  and  his  face  assumed  a  deadly  and  menacing 
aspect,  "what  a  word  may  do,  and  how  long  that  word  has 
been  withheld.  Remember  that  others  are  involved  be- 
sides yourself — those  who  came  before,  those  who  are  to 
come  after.  Remember  that  so  long  as  you  have  known 
me  I  have  shown  no  want  of  resolution,  and  believe  what 
I  now  tell  you,  that  so  long  as  we  have  to  do  with  each 
other  I  must,  and  by  Gr — d  loill  be  obeyed  !" 

"  Bold  words !"  cried  a  voice  without,  and  repeated  as 
the  speaker  appeared  at  the  window.  "  Bold  words  to  be 
spoken  to  a  Dangerfield,  and  that  in  Dangerfield's  Rest  1" 
and  Stephen  Dangerfield  advanced  into  the  room. 


64  dangerfield's  rest;  or 


CHAPTER  VI. 

¥E  need  not  employ  the  trite  illustration  of  a  bomb- 
shell to  depict  the  astonishment  of  both  Martin 
Dangerfield  and  his  strange  visitor,  on  the  sudden  appear- 
ance of  Stephen.  The  latter  gentleman,  with  the  noncha- 
lance w.hich  was  so  marked  a  feature  of  his  character,  had, 
after  saluting  his  father,  dropped  into  a  chair,  from  whence 
he  coolly  scanned  from  head  to  foot  the  person  of  Kirk- 
wood.  It  is  as  common  as  it  is  true  to  remark  that  there 
are  moments  in  which  wc  live  hours,  perhaps  sometimes 
years,  as  Kotzebuc  makes  Mrs.  Haller  say.  However  that 
may  be,  it  is  certain  not  more  than  thirty  seconds  of  silence 
ensued  after  Stephen  Dangerfield  entered  the  room,  and 
that  in  so  brief  a  space  the  latter  believed  that  in  the  man 
before  him  he  was  destined  to  deal  with  an  unscrupulous 
and  formidable  enemy.  It  is  also  true  that  Kirkwood  with 
equal  celerity  perceived  in  the  bold-looking  young  eyes, 
which  were  so  steadily  taking  his  measure,  there  shone  a 
spirit  and  alertness  which  presaged  trouble  and  impedi- 
ment to  his  own  plans  in  the  future.  The  elder  gentle- 
man, it  would  appear,  foresaw  more  danger  than  the  others, 
for  he  was  shaking  with  anxiety  and  apprehension. 

"  Stephen,  Stephen !"  he  cried  in  a  shrill  and  tremulous 
voice,  "  speak,  what  did  you  hear?" 

"Nothing,  father,  nothing,"  replied  the  son  soothingly. 
*'  I  knew  you  were  in  the  library,  and  came  directly  across 
the  lawn  to  find  you." 

"  Not  a  word  ?"  pursued  the  old  man  sharply. 

"  Have  you  trained  me  to  play  the  eaves-dropper  ?  I 
have  only  this  moment  arrived  from  New  York.  I  heard 
nothing  except  the  slightly  forcible  expression  this  gentle- 
man was  employing  to  you  as  I  came  on  the  piazza." 

"  An  expression,"  said  Kirkwood  instantly,  "  in  very 
bad  taste,  to  say  the  least,  and  for  which  I  beg  to  apologize 
most  heartily.  Mr.  Stephen  Dangerfield,  I  believe.  Per- 
mit me  to  introduce  myself;  my  name  is  Kirkwood,   a 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  65 

very  old  friend  of  your  father's ;  and  one,  I  am  sure,  he 
and  you  will  forgive  a  hasty  expression,  based  on  the  mis- 
understanding of  a  matter  long  since  dead  and  buried." 

The  man's  bearing  was  utterly  changed — a  metamorpho- 
sis from  a  bully  to  a  courtier.  There  was  a  half  paternal 
air  in  his  manner  toward  Stephen,  and  one  of  respectful 
esteem  when  he  turned  to  his  father.  The  breeding  was 
quite  unexceptionable.  It  had  the  absolute  stamp  of  even 
polished  society.  Stephen's  first  inclination  was  to  laugh 
in  his  face,  but  Martin  hurriedly  added  his  explanations  : 
— "  Yes,  yes,  we  are  very  old  friends — very  old  friends — T 
— I  dare  say  I  was  in  the  wrong — you  must  know,  Ste- 
phen, I  rather  provoked  Mr.  Kirkwood,  so  you  must  forget 
what  you  heard — especially  as  he  has  made  the  amende  so 
handsomely." 

"  I  remember  you  as  a  boy,"  resumed  Kirkwood  affec- 
tionately, "you  had  a  spirit  of  your  own  then,  whatever 
your  rubs  with  the  world  may  have  made  you  since  : — so 
that  I  trust  you'll  think  no  worse  of  me  for  a  childish 
outbreak  of  which  I'm  so  heartily  ashamed." 

Stephen  was  in  doubt.  His  first  impulse — his  first  in- 
stinct— had  been  to  regard  the  man  before  him  as  the 
incarnation  of  sinister  malevolence.  He  remembered  him 
in  his  youth  well  enough, — and  remembered  him  with  a 
certain  aversion,  albeit  his  perceptions  were  not  then  sharp- 
ened up  to  their  present  edge.  From  various  circumstan- 
ces he  had  been  led  to  regard  Kirkwood  as,  in  a  manner, 
his  father's  evil  genius.  Of  late  years  he  had  been  absent 
from  the  country,  but  a  short  time  before  had  returned. 
Stephen  had  been  advised  of  his  movements  from  a  source 
which  will  hereafter  appear.  He  made  no  doubt  that  this 
visitation  was  designed  to  commence  afresh  the  old  game 
of  extortion  and  rascality  which  he  had  reason  to  suspect 
had  been  played  years  before.  The  young  man  had  for 
some  time  past  entertained  grave  apprehensions  that  his 
father  was  sinking  into  an  imbecile  condition.  Should  this 
be  the  case,  he  would  be  more  than  ever  at  the  mercy  of 
his  persecutor.       Stephen   had    determined   to   seek   out 


QQ  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

Kirkwood, — who  had  cautiously  abstained  from  visiting 
The  Rest  during  his  presence  there, — and  to  bring  matters 
to  a  crisis  which  should  lead  to  explanation  and  ultimate 
settlement.  Having  determined  on  this  course,  he  pursued 
it  with  characteristic  energy.  The  conviction  of  serious 
danger  which  was  suggested  by  the  manner  in  which  he 
received  his  information — the  nature  of  the  source  alluded 
to — led  him  to  stop  at  no  obstacles  in  carrying  out  his  pur- 
pose.    When  he  discovered,  therefore,  that  Kirkwood  had 

sailed  for  England  in  the  A ,  he  determined  to  follow 

instantly  by  the  next  steamer,  which  happened  to  depart 
within  forty-eight  hours  after.  Stephen  had  been  advised 
of  the  trick  whereby  he  had  been  deceived,  but  through 
accident  and  carelessness  the  advice  did  not  reach  his  eye 
until  he  was  far  to  the  eastward  of  Sandy  Hook.  Of  his 
subsequent  procedures  we  have  already  taken  cogni- 
zance. 

Thus  Stephen  had,  or  fancied  he  had,  ample  reason  to 
regard  James  Kirkwood  with  distrust, — and  yet  the 
extreme  candor  and  affability  of  that  gentleman  almost 
made  him,  for  a  moment,  ashamed  of  his  suspicions. 
Meantime,  his  father  continued  the  conversation  : 

"  But  by  what  magical  process  do  you  find  your  way 
to  The  Rest,  my  son  ?  Your  letter  stated  you  had  taken 
passage  in  the  Siromhoh',  and  your  name  was  certainly  in 
the  list  of  passengers.  We  thought  you  were  by  this  time 
in  England." 

"  I  was  about  to  put  your  question  to  this  gentleman, 
sir.  I  had  expected  that  he  as  well  as  m3^self  would,  by 
this  time,  have  been  in  England.     He  took  passage  in  the 

A ,  and  his  name  was,  to  my  knowledge,  in  the  list  of 

passengers  !" 

"  You  surprise  me,"  said  Kirkwood  blandly.  "  My  name 
is  not  so  very  common  ; — but  your  mistake  obviously 
arises  from  there  being  another  who  may,  or  may  not,  have 
the  right  to  bear  it." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  cried  Stephen,  "  that  you  did  not 
engage  passage  by  the  A ?" 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  67 

"  How  could  I  have  done  so,"  answered  the  other  with 
perfect  simplicity,  "  since  you  perceive  I  am  here  ?" 

"  It  is  tolerably  clear,"  quoth  Stephen,  "  that  you  did  not 
sail  by  that  vessel,  but  the  retaining  passage,  of  course,  is 
a  different  thing." 

"  My  dear  young  friend,  I  assure  you,  I  did  neither  the 
one  nor  the  other." 

"  And  would  you  have  me  believe,"  pressed  Stephen, 
"  that  you  were  ignorant  that  I  was  in  earnest  quest  of 
you  ?" 

"  On  the  contrary,"  replied  Kirkwood  frankly,  "  it  was 
my  knowledge  of  that  very  fact  which  brings  me  here  at 
this  moment  in  order  that  you  might  be  gratified." 
Stephen  looked  inquiringly  at  his  father. 
"Mr.  Kirkwood  mentioned,"  said  Martin  Dangerfield, 
with  some  hesitation,  "  that  he  had  been  given  to  under- 
stand you  were  desirous  of  meeting  him,  and  expressed 
surprise  and — and  regret — that  you  were  not  at  The  Eest 
on  his  arrivak" 

"  For  myself,"  said  Stephen  with  a  puzzled  air,  "I  owe 
my  return  to  the  fortunate  accident  of  crossing  a  westward 
bound  ship  at  sea ; — but  such  a  thing  isn't  likely  to  be 
duplicated  in  the  same  month." 

"  Hardly,"  said  his  father  drily  ;  "  but  you  need  seek  for 
no  such  explanation,  since  that  which  you  already  have  is 
sufficiently  explicit." 

"I  dislike  to  appear  tenacious,  sir.  But,  with  my  present 
sources  of  information,  I  must  admit  that,  had  I  remained 
at  The  Eest,  this  gentleman  is  the  last  person  I  should  have 
expected  to  see  here." 

"  Your  '  sources  of  information'  have  misled  you.  Such 
things  occur  in  the  experience  of  all  of  us.  In  any  case, 
since  I  am  here,  and  since  I  am  both  ready  and  willing 
cheerfully  to  give  3'ou  any  more  trustworthy  information 
which  may  lie  in  my  power  to  impart,  there  is  surely 
no  need  for  any  misunderstanding  between  us."  Kirkwood 
had  risen  while  speaking,  and  as  he  concluded  he  lield  out 
his  hand  to   Stephen  with  a   cordial  and  winning  smile. 


68  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

The  young  man  took  the  hand  with  some  reluctance, 
which  he  found  it  impossible  altogether  to  refuse,  and  said 
steadily : — 

"  I  trust  there  may  be  less  misunderstanding  on  my  part, 
sir,  when  I  have  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  an  hour's 
conversation  with  you." 

"  Not  to-night — not  to-night,  Stephen,"  said  his  father 
nervously,  "  you  must  be  fatigued  with  your  journey — 
we  dine  at  six — almost  directly — "glancing  at  a  clock 
on  the  oaken  mantelpiece — "and  this  evening,  Mr.  Kirk- 
wood  and  I  had  already  devoted  to  the  transaction  of  some 
important  business." 

"As  you  please,  sir.  Only,  the  sooner  Mr.  Kirkwood 
can  vouchsafe  me  the  explanations  he  tenders,  the  more 
gratified  I  shall  be." 

"  My  young  friend  and  I  will  take  a  stroll  together  after 
breakfast  to-morrow,"  said  Kirkwood,  "  when  it  will  give 
me  great  pleasure  to  satisfy  him  in  every  respect." 

"Be  it  so,  sir,"  and  Stephen,  saying  something  about, 
changing  his  dress  before  dinner,  and  casting  a  look  of 
blended  doubt  and  affection  upon  his  father,  left  the  room. 
As  the  door  closed  behind  him,  the  old  man  gave  vent  to  a 
long  and  painful  sigh — one  of  those  heavy  expirations 
which  tell  at  once  of  suffering  and  relief,  and  which  always 
come  with  a  temporary  respite  from  some  dreaded  calamity. 

"  Decidedly,"  said  Kirkwood,  "  decidedly  your  son  is  a 
clever  young  man.  I  didn't  think  there  was  so  much  in 
him." 

"You  have  seen  too  little  to  judge,  I  should  say," 
demurred  the  other,  not  without  a  glimmer  of  fatherly 
pride. 

"  Pshaw !  I  judge,  not  by  what  he  says,  but  by  what 
he  expresses,  and  does.  Anyhow,  he's  not  a  man  to  be 
humbugged  by  cock-and-bull  stories.  "We  must  tell  him 
the  truth,  Martin  Dangerfield  !" 

"  The  Truth  ?" 

"  The  Truth.  What  are  you  startled  at  ?  It  will  be  I, 
not  you  who  will  have  to  do  it.     I  tell  you  he  knows  too 


BEFORE   THE  STORM.  69 

much  of  what  has  passed  between  us  to  be  satisfied  with 
prevarication.     He  must  know  all." 

"  You  are  mad  !" 

"  Always  obtuse.  Eeflect  and  realize  if  you  can  that 
our  interests  are  identical.  Unless  his  suspicions  are  laid 
at  rest,  once  and  for  all,  he  will  be  taking  steps  which  may 
breed  fresh  mischief     Leave  all  to  me." 

"I  must,  I  suppose.  But  never  will  I  live  to  witness 
the  expo — " 

"  Hush !  you  may  have  no  great  confidence  in  my 
generosity ;  but  your  ruin  would  do  me  no  good — would 
certainly  cause  me  great  loss  and  inconvenience.  You  can 
trust  me  for  this,  if  for  no  other  reason." 

That  night,  from  his  chamber  in  the  second  story  of  the 
western  wing  of  the  mansion,  Stephen  Dangerfield  saw 
lights  in  the  library  until  a  very  late  hour.  He  tossed  to 
and  fro  upon  his  bed  in  uneasy  slumbers,  and,  starting  up 
for  the  tenth  time  to  look  forth  on  the  cool  grey  of  the 
coming  dawn — he  still  saw  the  pale  glimmering  of  candles 
— still  saw  the  dusky  shadows  of  forms  moving  up  and 
down  between  their  dim  light  and  the  gloomy  windows  of 
the  library. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ERESH  and  radiant  was  the  morning  after  Stephen's 
arrival  at  Dangerfield's  Rest.  The  breakfast  hour 
wore  heavily  enough,  however,  each  of  the  three  who 
passed  it  together  showing  signs  of  that  restraint  which 
accompanies  demanded  and  yet  ungiven  explanations. 
Martin  Dangerfield  avoided  his  son's  eye,  and  his  face, 
usually  troubled  and  care-worn,  exhibited  traces  of  the 
vigil  of  the  night  before.  Stephen  himself  was  thoughtful 
and  expectant.     He  was  determined  to  watch  narrowly  the 


70  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

speech  and  conduct  of  their  unwelcome  guest,  anticipating 
in  each,  subterfuge  and  dissimulation.  That  Kirkwood  had 
taken  especial  pains  to  avoid  him,  there  could  be  no  doubt. 
That  his  father  had  been  anxious  to  conceal  the  nature  of 
his  relations  with  this  man  was  equally  certain.  Both  had 
been  taken  by  surprise,  as  they  could  by  no  possibility 
have  foreseen  a  return  so  sudden,  based  as  it  was  on  an 
accident  so  uncommon.  They  had,  however,  had  time  for 
fresh  collusion,  if  their  wishes  pointed  in  that  direction. 
Whatever  reasons  had  existed  for  the  previous  mystery, 
probably  existed  still.  Stephen  felt,  therefore,  that  he  had 
a  right  to  expect  renewed  attempts  to  mislead  him ;  and, 
while  Kirkwood  was  the  recipient  of  his  father's  hospital- 
ity, it  seemed  difficult  to  approach  him  with  that  peremp- 
tory tone  he  had  fully  resolved  upon  adopting  before  their 
present  meeting.  He  was  thus  reduced,  in  a  manner,  to 
the  weapons  of  vigilance  and  observation. 

As  for  Kirkwood  himself,  he  understood  precisely  what 
was  passing  in  the  young  man's  mind,  and  governed  him- 
self accordingly.  He  had  led  rather  a  rough  life  of  late, 
and  it  put  him  in  high  good-humor  to  be  surrounded  by 
the  comfort  and  luxury  he  was  accustomed  to  consider  as 
his  natural  and  legitimate  surroundings.  The  soft  beds, 
the  solid,  old-fashioned  furniture,  the  bountiful  table,  the 
plate,  the  wine,  the  ready  attendance,  all  soothed  and  grati- 
fied him  ;  and,  as  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  enjoy  them 
for  some  time,  the  future  appeared  altogether  couleur-de-rose. 
Then  the  man's  digestion  was  perfect,  and  he  really  took 
more  than  usual  satisfaction  in  the  mere  animal  fact  of  liv- 
ing. He  could  be  thoroughly  good-natured  when  no  one 
thwarted  him  too  much.  On  such  occasions  as  the  latter, 
the  inner  nature  might  exhibit  itself  unpleasantly.  The 
close  observer  would  then  perceive  how  much  early  asso- 
ciation and  training  has  to  do  with  the  development  of 
inner  natures  of  this  peculiar  character.  For  Kirkwood 
was  born  and  bred  on  a  large  plantation  in  Alabama.  Up 
to  his  twenty-fifth  year  he  had  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of 
human  slavery,  and,  to  his  misfortune,  slavery  of  the  most 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  71 

cruel  and  repulsive  type.  He  was  the  natural  son  of  a 
wealthy  and  dissolute  planter,  by  a  very  beautiful  quadroon 
girl.  The  father,  a  man  of  gross  tastes  and  appetites,  and 
barbarously  cruel  to  his  negroes,  had  still  enough  of 
human  feeling  not  to  enslave  his  offspring — an  abstinence 
uncommon  enough  in  that  section,  and  which  might  have 
attracted  more  notice  but  for  the  fact  that  there  was  not  the 
slightest  trace  in  the  child  of  negro  blood  or  coloring.  The 
complexion  darkened,  to  be  sure,  as  he  grew  to  manhood, 
but  even  then  was  fairer  than  that  of  many  a  Castilian ; 
so  that,  as  the  mother  died  early,  and  there  had  been,  for 
various  reasons,  some  pains  taken  to  conceal  his  origin, 
James  Kirkwood  passed  through  life  as  an  unsuspected 
Caucasian.  He  received  an  irregular  and  smattering  edu- 
cation— including  the  reading  of  some  law  at  the  ofl&ce  of 
a  county  judge  in  a  neighboring  town — and  on  the  death 
of  his  father,  who  left  him  a  small  provision,  he  came 
north,  and  settled  at  New  York.  Of  his  subsequent  career 
we  have  already  had  some  inklings. 

On  his  appearance  at  the  breakfast  table,  Kirkwood 
exhibited  no  little  gaiety  and  animation  ;  and  it  was  not 
until  his  efforts  were  repeatedly  dampened  by  the  silence 
of  his  companions  that  the  exuberance  of  his  spirits  sub- 
sided, and  his  energies  were  confined  to  the  edibles  before 
him.  He  was  desirous  to  establish  with  Stephen  Danger- 
field  a  familiar  and  offi-hand  sort  of  relation,  which  that 
gentleman  was  in  no  wise  disposed  to  encourage.  Each 
rebuff,  however,  increased  Kirkwood's  respect  for  the 
other's  talent,  and  confirmed  him  in  his  previous  convic- 
tion, that  it  would  be  expedient  to  be  quite  unreserved  and 
frank  in  the  communications  he  had  promised  to  afford 
him.  Stephen  might  or  might  not  have  been  conscious  of 
producing  this  effect,  but  his  behavior  was  dictated  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  by  his  determination  to  treat  Kirkwood 
with  measured  formality  until  those  communications  should 
satisfy  his  mind  that  the  latter  deserved  at  his  hands  the 
treatment  of  a  man  of  honor — a  contingency  which  at  pre- 
sent he  was  very  nmch  disposed  to  doubt      As  for  his 


72  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

father's  endorsement,  Stephen  was  persuaded  that  it  was 
extorted  by  some  sinister  process,  which  it  was  his  duty  to 
detect  and  to  foil. 

The  meal  concluded,  Martin  Dangerfield  betook  himself 
to  his  library,  and  Kirk  wood  at  once  proposed  to  fulfil  the 
last  night's  agreement. 

"  Now,  my  dear  young  friend,"  he  said  cheerfully,  and 
lighting  a  cigar,  "  now,  I  am  altogether  at  your  service. 
Where  shall  it  be  ?  Shall  we  stroll  along  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  or  shall  we  avail  ourselves  of  the  shady  retreat  afford- 
ed by  yonder  tasteful  summer-house  ?" 

"  Suit  yourself,  sir,"  quoth  Stephen,  curtly  ;  "  wherever 
you  can  make  it  most  convenient  to  be  brief  and  to  the 
purpose." 

Kirkwood  looked  at  him  with  a  compassionate  eye. 

"  'Tis  the  essence  of  youth  to  be  hasty,"  said  he,  philo- 
sophically, "even  when  the  apples  we  seek  turn  to  ashes 
in  the  mouth.  When  you  have  lived  as  long  as  I — who 
have  seen,  I  dare  say,  half  as  many  years  again  as  your 
own — you  may  find  there  is  more  wisdom  than  you  think 
for  now  in  the  sage  old  maxim— ^ima  Zenfe." 

"We  can  scarcely  make  too  much  haste,"  returned  Ste- 
phen, "  when  the  fruit  we  seek  is  in  plain  view,  and  the 
road  is  clear  to  the  tree.  I  haven't  often  wasted  time  when 
such  were  the  conditions." 

"  One  instance  at  least  must  be  fresh  in  your  memory," 
answered  the  other  significantly,  "  as  your  late  journey  may 
suggest." 

Stephen  flushed. 

"  Any  one  may  blunder,"  he  retorted  quickly,  "  when 
people  find  it  to  their  interest  to  set  up  false  guide-posts. 
I  shall  try  to  profit  even  by  that  experience." 

The  two  walked  on  silently,  Kirkwood  thinking  the 
young  man  was  piqued  by  the  recollection  of  his  mistake, 
and  that  it  were  better  not  to  pursue  an  irritating  subject, 
— St<».phen  almost  forgiving  his  enemy,  if  indeed  he  owed 
to  his  machinations  the  late  trip  over  blue-water,  for  the 
sake  of  the  sweet  face  the  recollection  brought  up  so  vivid- 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  73 

ly  before  him.  Presently  they  came  to  the  summer-house, 
and  Kirkwood  seated  himself,  inviting  his  companion,  with 
a  gracious  wave  of  the  hand,  to  do  the  same. 

"  You  have  a  lovely  place  here,  Mr.  Dangerfield,"  he 
remarked,  gazing  over  the  beautiful  prospect  with  a  not 
unappreciative  eye.  "  Pity  if  it  were  ever  to  pass  out  of 
the  family." 

Stephen  came  back  to  earth  with  a  rough  shock.  "  And 
do  you  know  of  any  reason,  sir,"  he  demanded,  almost 
angrily,  "why  it  should  do  so  ?" 

"None  whatever,"  replied  Kirkwood,  gently  emitting  a 
smoky  spiral.  "  That  is — with  reasonable  prudence.  I  was 
only  thinking,"  he  went  on  rapidly,  and  checking  an 
obvious  intention  to  interrupt  him,  "  that  you  have  arrived 
at  a  period  when  most  young  men  of  your  position  have 
more  than  thought  of  marriage." 

"You  forget  the  maxim  you  favored  me  with  just 
now.  This  may  be  one  of  the  instances  wherein  I  am 
wise  enough  to  apply  it.  But  'tis  hardly  a  subject  which 
can  be  of  any  particular  interest  to  yourself.  With  your 
leave  we  will  proceed  to  the  one  which  brought  us  here." 

"  Willingly.  Pray  believe,  however,  that  anything  inter- 
ests me  which  concerns  the  Dangerfield  family.  My  long 
friendship  for  your  father  prevents  such  an  interest  from 
savoring  of  assumption.  At  all  events  you  will  find  it 
to  be  genuine  enough  as  we  get  on." 

"  I  understood  you  to  express  a  readiness  to  enlighten 
me  on  certain  matters  which  have,  to  say  the  least,  an 
equivocal  appearance,  and  into  which,  I  suppose  you  are 
willing  to  concede,  I  have  some  right  to  inquire." 

"Quite  right — to  both  propositions.  For  my  part  I 
regret  such  an  explanation  has  been  deferred  so  long,  and  I 
beg  you  to  understand  that  it  has  been  so  deferred,  strictly 
in  accordance  with  the  wishes  and  injunctions  of  your 
father.  I  am  prepared  to  reply  fully  and  freely  to  any 
inquiries  you  may  think  proper  to  make,  since  I  have  now 
his  permission  to  do  so." 

"  Granted  last  night  ?" 


74  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  Granted  last  night." 

"  Very  good — then  I  have  no  difficulty  in  proceeding. 
I  infer,  of  course,  that  my  father  will  verify  any  statements 
you  are  kind  enough  to  make." 

"  It  is  in  your  power,  of  course,  to  put  them  to  that  test." 

"  The  reply  to  a  single  question  will  involve,  I  should 
judge,  all  the  information  for  which  I  seek.  It  has  come 
to  my  knowledge — it  is  immaterial  how,  as  the  fact  is 
sufficient — that  my  father  has  been  for  many  years  in  the 
habit  of  making  very  heavy  disbursements  for  purposes 
unconnected  with  the  improvement  of  his  property,  having 
no  reference  to  investment,  or  in  any  sense  relating  to  per- 
sonal expenditures.  I  have  also  become  cognizant — a,nd 
again  the  process  is  unimportant — that  these  moneys  have 
invariably  found  their  way  into  the  hands  of  a  single  per- 
son." 

"  Go  on." 

"  My  father  is  growing  old — old  in  mind  and  energy, 
perhaps,  rather  than  in  years.  I  have  preferred  not  to 
harass  him  on  a  subject  obviously  distasteful  to  him. 
Strictly  speaking,  I  might  not,  possibly,  have  the  right  to 
interfere.  But  the  disquietude  which  this  business  has 
occasioned  him — a  disquietude  which  has  deepened  into 
absolute  distress — indicates  that  my  duty  as  a  son  is, 
clearly,  to  relieve  him  if  I  can.  Such  has  been  my  motive 
in  tracing  out  the  person  to  whom  I  refer.  For  many  years 
he  has  been  beyond  my  reach.  Of  late  he  has  thought 
proper  to  place  himself  within  it.  From  him  I  resolved  to 
demand  explanations." 

"  Quite  right." 

"  You  agree  with  me  ?" 

"  Perfectly,  in  all  respects." 

"  That  simplifies  matters,  since,  as  I  need  scarcely  add, 
the  person  in  question  is — yourself. '''' 

"  Quite  right  again.     What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  ?" 

"What  do  I  wish  you  to  do!"  echoed  Stephen  in  some 
astonishment.  "  You  admit  the  accuracy  of  the  statement 
I  have  made  ?" 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  75 

"  Entirely,  in  each  and  every  particular  ;  and,  that  being 
the  case,  I  repeat,  what  do  you  wish  me  to  do  ?" 

"Do !"  reiterated  the  young  man,  annoyed  by  the  cool- 
ness of  his  interlocutor.  "  Do  !  why  to  tell  me,  since  you 
are  so  obliging,  why  you  have  received  all  this  money,  and 
what  you  have  done  with  it  ?" 

"  As  to  your  first  question,"  said  Kirk  wood,  deliberately 
knocking  the  ashes  off  his  cigar,  "  I  reply,  nothing  more 
easy.  The  second  is  more  difiicult  "With  every  wish  to 
gratify  your  curiosity,  I  fear  that  that  will  involve  a  great 
deal  of  profound  investigation." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Stephen  impatiently,  "suppose  you 
answer  the  first  to  go  on  with." 

"  With  much  pleasure.  You  will  allow  me  to  remark, 
en  passant^  that  I  cautioned  you  in  advance  as  to  the  apples 
and  the  ashes.  Properly  to  answer  your  question  obliges 
me  to  go  back  a  few  years.  It  also  involves  touching 
upon  a  subject  rather  painful  for  a  son  to  discuss,  or  a 
friend  to  advert  to.  Yet  as  the  business  is  opened  at  all, 
candor  is  distinctly  the  only  policy.  You  are,  perhaps,  not 
aware,  that  in  his  younger  days  your  father  played  rather 
deeply  ?" 

Stephen  bowed  in  acquiescence 

"  He  was  unfortunate  enough,  as  others  have  been 
before  and  since,  to  carry  this  weakness  rather  too  far.  He 
became  very  heavily  involved  :  so  much  so  as  almost  to 
compass  his  ruin.  Some  of  his  largest  obligations  might 
have  been  repudiated,  and  the  law  would  have  borne  him 
out  in  such  a  course.  His  pride,  and  the  jealous  and  scru- 
pulous regard  wherein  he  ever  held  the  old  Dangerfield 
name,  would  not  suffer  him  to  adopt  it.  I  was  at  that  time 
a  practising  attorney  in  New  York — a  warm  friend  of  your 
father's,  though  previously  a  stranger  to  his  habits  and 
embarrassments.  He  came  to  me  in  his  distress,  and  I  un- 
dertook to  save  him  and  this  property  from  the  sheriffs 
hammer.  To  do  so  involved  great  sacrifices  on  my  part. 
I  disposed  of  all  my  own  property  and  strained  every 
nerve  to  raise  the  required  sum.     It  amounted  to  about  a 


76  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

hundred  thousand  dollars.  The  loan  was  secured  by  a  bond 
and  a  mortgage  on  Dangerfield's  Rest, — then,  by  no  means, 
worth  so  large  an  amount,  though  it  may  be  now.  The  in- 
terest on  this  debt  has  been  regularly  paid,  and  about  a  fifth 
of  the  principal.  I  hold  the  mortgage  which  secures  the 
ultimate  payment  of  the  remainder." 

Stephen  Dangerfield  sat  through  this  momentous  recital 
in  a  state  of  perfect  stupefaction.  He  wished  to  stop  his 
ears,  to  rush  headlong  from  the  spot  which  had  witnessed 
a  disclosure  so  ruinous  to  his  hopes  and  prospects  in  life, 
but  a  species  of  fascination  seemed  to  chain  him  to  his 
seat,  and  to  compel  him  to  listen  to  what  further  Kirkwood 
might  have  to  say.  The  latter  paused  a  moment,  and  ex- 
pelled a  column  or  two  of  blue  and  fragrant  smoke  as  if 
waiting  for  any  response  Stephen  might  wish  to  make  ;  and 
proceeded : 

"  I  would  gladly  have  spared  this  narration  for  your  sake, 
and  as  gladly  have  avoided  the  unpleasant  office  of  repeat- 
ing it  for  my  own.  Your  father  may  live  many  years,  and 
will  do  all  he  can,  no  doubt,  to  disencumber  the  estate. 
The  farms  are  very  profitable,  and  much  may  be  done  in 
a  short  time.  I  have  given  you  a  general  outline  of  the 
facts.  When  you  desire  it  I  will  furnish  particulars.  You 
will  bear  me  witness  that  I  have  avoided  you,  knowing 
well  the  explanation  you  sought, — and  that  you  have  in  a 
manner  extorted  it  from  me." 

The  speaker  rose  as  he  concluded,  and  guessing  from  the 
young  man's  abrupt  gesture  that  he  wished  the  interview 
to  end,  he  lighted  another  cigar,  and  strolled  along  the 
cliff. 

Stephen  remained  for  a  space  as  if  paralysed.  He  tried 
to  believe  what  he  heard  was  a  dream,  but  he  found  him- 
self too  truly  in  possession  of  his  senses.  He  tried  to  be- 
lieve that  it  was  a  lie, — a  base,  malicious  fabrication,  con- 
cocted for  some  as  yet  inscrutable  purpose :  but  he  found 
his  soul  pervaded  with  an  awful  conviction  of  its  truth. 
He  glanced  back  through  all  the  incidents  of  the  past  fif- 
teen years,  and  remembered  at  every  turn  circumstances 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  77 

wbicli  corroborated  the  tale  and  stamped  it  as  genuine. 
He  even  thought  matters  far  worse  than  Kirkwood  repre- 
sented them,  for  he  now  recalled  many  facts  and  evidences 
which  proved  that  his  flither's  pecuniary  position  was  be- 
coming yearly  more  embarrassed. 

Determined  to  be  satisfied,  he  sprang  to  the  piazza  where 
he  had  entered  the  night  before,  to  seek  endorsement  or 
denial  from  that  father  himself.  A  glance  into  the  open 
window  of  the  library  was  sufficient.  Martin  Dangerfield 
was  sitting,  his  face  buried  in  his  hands,  the  thin  white 
hairs  straggling  over  his  trembling  fingers.  Stephen  turned 
away  sick  at  heart.  Where  were  now  his  hopes,  his  rose- 
colored  dreams  of  Grace  Yernon  ?  The  young  man  was 
not  yet  either  a  hero  or  a  saint,  and  he  spent  the  rest  of 
the  day  locked  in  his  room,  and  having  for  his  sole  compa- 
nions— the  gloomy  and  foreboding  reflections  of  despair. 


CHAPTER  Yin. 


IT  was  the  day  after  the  arrival  of  the  Assyria.  Eliot 
and  Cuthbert  Boynton  had  gone  to  the  same  hotel, 
promising  themselves  a  day  or  two  of  sight-seeing  together, 
before  their  proposed  trip  to  the  sea-shore.  Oliver  Yernon 
with  his  family  had  gone  up  the  river  to  their  home,  after 
extending  a  cordial  invitation  to  both  the  young  men  to 
become  his  guests  at  Uplands  on  their  return.  Stephen 
Dangerfield,  as  we  have  seen,  had  gone  in  the  same  direc- 
tion ;  nor  did  all  his  intense  desire  to  be  with  Grace  pre- 
vent his  taking  the  train  at  Chambers  street,  within  the 
hour  that  he  reached  the  Battery. 

The  female  Yon  Donks  were  rummaging  and  fussing 
about  the  house  in  Fifth  Avenue,  and  awaiting  impatiently 
the  arrival  of  their  boxes  of  latest  Parisian  finery,  that 
they  might  select  the  most  appropriate  ammunition  for  their 
approaching  campaign   at   Newport.      Gossamer  himself 


78  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

■was  in  high  spirits.  The  dreaded  Heydensucker  was  rusti- 
cating at  a  distant  establishment  of  a  hygienic  character, 
ostensibly  under  treatment  for  a  febrile  disorder,  but  in 
reality,  as  Gossamer  was  assured  at  his  club,  to  tide  over  a 
composite  crisis  of  pecuniary  embarrassment  and  delirium 
tremens.  Thus  relieved,  even  without  the  aid  of  Mr.  Elias 
P.  Staggers's  proposed  operations,  the  young  man  regarded 
the  future  with  great  complacency.  He  even  prepared  an 
elaborate  note  of  proposal  to  Miss  Vernon,  which  he  only 
awaited  the  acquiescence  of  his  ally  to  despatch. 

Mr.  Staggers  had  hastened  on  'Change  to  receive  the 
welcomes  and  congratulations  of  his  friends,  among  whom 
he  was  regarded  as  a  sort  of  financial  Crichton,  and  not  a 
little  esteemed,  in  spite  of  the  rather  slippery  character  of 
his  dealings.  McSwindle  had  thought  it  wise  to  abandon 
his  design  on  the  "  nagur,"  for  fear  of  making  powerful 
enemies  among  her  protectors,  and  because  Cuthbert  Boyn- 
ton,  on  whose  aid  and  countenance  he  somewhat  relied,  had 
treated  his  advances  with  a  contempt  which  was  perfectly 
undisguised.  The  worthy  Milesian,  therefore,  having 
shown  himself  in  the  congenial  atmosphere  of  the  City 
Hall,  had  repaired  to  his  favorite  haunt  at  "  Hook  and 
Cuff's,"  where  he  was  uproariously  received  by  an  anoma- 
lous band  of  his  compatriots,  most  of  whom  presented  that 
ingenious  and  striking  ensemble  which  is  effected  when  a 
person  with  the  face  of  a  "  cut- wood  robber  "  wears  the 
dress  of  a  mute  at  a  funeral. 

Sprigg  was  the  lion  of  the  hour  at  the  Crier  office,  where 
he  was  writing  and  telling  incredible  stories  of  his  ex- 
ploits and  adventures,  and  where  he  had  an  invitation  to 
dine  with  the  editor-in-chief  the  next  day,  Slymer  hav- 
ing invited  himself,  as  was  his  custom,  for  the  same  occa- 
sion. 

Robert  Eliot  made  the  usual  observations  which  English- 
men  are  prone  to  make  on  entering  New  York.  Every- 
thing was  bright  and  gay  in  coloring ;  too  much  so,  in  fact, 
for  eyes  accustomed  to  the  humid  atmosphere  of  his  native 
island.     Broadway  was  a  very  fine  street — finer  probably, 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  79 

and  longer  certainly,  than  Piccadilly  or  Oxford  street — 
but  rather  more  mixed  and  promiscuous  in  shops  and  asso- 
ciations. Those  huge  hotels  were  too  square  and  prosaic ; 
surely  if  they  could  devote  so  much  space  to  them,  they 
might  afford  a  little  to  embellish  with  a  trace  of  poetry 
such  vast  blocks  of  use.  Very  fine  shops  certainly  ;  but 
they  look  as  if  they  had  their  whole  stock  in  trade  thrust 
in  the  windows.  And  such  lots  of  great  hulking  fellows 
behind  the  counters !  Why,  they  ought  to  be  in  the  army 
or  behind  the  plough.  People  look  dreadfully  anxious 
and  skinny — in  a  hurry  ?  of  course,  but  then  people  are 
always  in  a  hurry  in  a  commercial  city.  Stand  at  Temple 
Bar,  or  opposite  the  Bank — precisely  the  same  thing  as 
Broadway  or  Wall  street.  Yery  pretty  women,  very  ;  but 
rather  too  thin  for  our  taste.  They  say  your  women  fade 
early.  Climate  ?  no ;  want  of  exercise,  I  fancy.  The 
physiognom}^  does  not  strike  me  agreeably ;  the  mouths 
are  too  hard,  and  the  eyes  too  eager.  These  people  want  a 
leaven  of  artistic  culture — more  leisure — more  generous 
and  elevating  pursuits  and  studies.  The  women  dress  too 
much ;  a  morning  dress  for  promenade  should  not  be  the 
dress  for  a  carriage  or  a  ball-room ;  what  do  you  think  I 
saw  at  the  breakfast  table  ?  a  woman  in  a  full  set  of  dia- 
monds !  In  England  they  would  think  her  mad,  and  I 
dare  say  she  is.  The  men,  too,  even  the  gentlemanly  ones, 
don't  seem  to  know  the  difference  between  a  morning  and 
dinner  costume.  What  can  you  do  without  cabs  ?  Omni- 
buses ?  Yes,  but  how  slow  and  uncomfortable !  and  I 
see  you  have  no  conductors ;  and,  setting  the  rate  of  speed 
aside,  how  much  time  must  be  wasted  in  taking  up  and 
setting  down  each  passenger.  Why  don't  you  have  Han- 
soms ?  "  Opposition  of  omnibus  and  street  railway  men  ?" 
But  I  thought  this  was  a  free  country ;  and  you  Americans 
think  so  much  of  doing  things  quickly.  Policemen,  splen- 
did fellows,  certainly.  We  should  make  them  Life-Guards- 
men or  Grenadiers.  What  do  y9u  allow  vans  and  bag- 
gage-wagons in  Broadway  for  ?  The  road  is  blocked  half 
the  time  by  vehicles  which  might  as  well  run  in  parallel 


80  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

streets — shocking  waste  of  time  and  very  unsightly — sin- 
gular evils  for  Americans  to  submit  to,  etc.,  etc. 

Staggers  presented  himself  in  the  afternoon,  and  man- 
aged to  inveigle  the  young  men  into  a  call  at  the  chateau 
Von  Donk. 

"  You  ought  to  know  the  General,"  he  reasoned  to  Boyn- 
ton  ;  "  capital  representative  man  of  the  Empire  City. 
Hates  the  Abolitionists  wuss  than  a  pestilence,  and  goes  in 
for  the  true  interests  of  the  country.  You  want  to  see  all 
sorts  of  folks,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Eliot.  "  Von 
Donk's  one  of  our  Merchant  Princes.  He's  one  of  nature's 
noblemen,  he  is." 

"  I  thought  he  was  in  the  army,"  remarked  Eliot. 

"So  he  is,"  responded  Stiggins;  "militia  service,  the 
true  bulwark  of  our  Republican  Institootions.  Our  reg'lar 
army  aint  much,  that's  a  fact — only  a  nooclus,  as  we  say. 
We  are  a  practical  people,  Mr.  Eliot,  and  we  don't  want  a 
great  crowd  of  chaps  lazing  about  doing  nothin'  in  peace 
times.  If  we  get  into  a  scrimmage,  we  just  call  our  bone 
and  muscle  into  the  field,  and  do  things  up  in  good  shape, 
slick  and  quick ;  when  the  war's  over  they  go  back  to  their 
avocations,  addin'  to  the  wealth  and  strength  of  the  coun- 
try." 

Arrived  at  their  destination,  Eliot  was  rather  surprised 
and  amused  on  finding  the  door  opened  by  a  well  trained 
English  servant  in  livery. 

"  Rather  anti-democratic  that,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Staggers  ?" 
queried  he. 

"  Well,  our  folks  do  kinder  rile  over  it,"  explained  the 
broker,  "but  it's  the  fashion  now,  and  you  have  to  do  it 
if  you're  in  our  best  society.  They  can't  get  no  free-born 
American  citizen  to  put  on  such  things,  but  them  from  the 
old  country,  bein'  used  to  be  down-trodden  and  oppressed, 
of  course  it  comes  easy  to  'em.  Even  they  kick  over  the 
traces  after  they've  breathed  the  air  of  liberty  for  a  year  or 
two,  and  find  out  they're  as  good  as  anybody,  and  can  git 
to  be  President  if  they're  smart." 

"  But  surely  some  must  perform  domestic  offices,"  said 


BEFORE   THE  STORM.  81 

Eliot,     "if   all   refuse  to  act    as  servants,    how    can  you 
get  on  ?" 

"  Oh,  there's  English,  and  Scotch,  and  Irish,  and  Germans, 
coming  over  all  the  time,  and  they  fill  up  the  vacant  places 
till  they  get  sick  of  it,  and  then  others  come  along." 

"  I  should  have  thought  that  in  a  free  country,  and  one 
in  which  there  are  so  few  idlers,  no  honest  labor  would  be 
considered  disgraceful," 

"  Well,  you  see,  it  ain't  in  accordance  with  the  spirit  of 
our  institootions  to  set  one  man  up  over  another,  and  folks 
go  agen  it.  You  know  they  all  have  votes.  That  chap 
with  the  buttons  has  just  as  much  power  as  the  General 
himself.  He  haint  been  here  long,  and  he  gets  good  wages, 
but  bime-by  he'll  see  things  as  they  are,  and  they'll  have  to 
get  some  one  else." 

"  The  fact  is,  Eliot,"  said  Cuthbert  Boynton,  "  people 
who  emigrate  to  this  country  are  composed,  as  a  mass, 
of  the  lovv'est  and  least  educated  classes  of  European 
nations,  and  they  either  won't  or  can't  see  the  distinction 
between  a  political  and  legal  equality,  which  is  possible, 
and  a  social  equality,  which  is  impossible." 

"  Then  why  bestow  upon  them  every  privilege  which 
the  State  can  confer,  until  they  are  educated  to  appre- 
ciate it  ?" 

"  There  ain't  no  distinctions,"  said  Staggers  stoutly  ;  "  we 
hold  all  men  to  be  born  free  and  equal,  exceptin'   niggers." 

Eliot  did  not  reply  to  this  conclusive  declaration,  as 
the  party  found  themselves  in  a  drawing-room,  and  in 
momentary  expectation  of  the  ladies.  The  apartment 
was  gorgeously  ornamented  with  pink  and  gold,  and,  in 
expense,  if  not  in  taste,  might  have  been  the  reception 
room  of  a  duchess.  The  furniture  peeped  out  here  and 
there  from  under  its  coverings  of  brown  holland,  in 
dazzling  accord  with  the  ceiling  and  walls,  and  a  huge 
chandelier  gave  promise  of  overwhelming  refulgence  when 
put  to  its  use.  Gilding  and  white  marble  were  in  pro- 
fusion, and  the  feet  of  the  visitors  sank  deep  in  a  carpet  of 
sumptuous  cost  and  thickness. 

4* 


82  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"Mrs.  General  knows  how  to  do  it,  she  does,"  said 
Staggers,  admiringly,  as  he  stooped  down  and  commenced 
a  minute  inspection  of  the  expensive  fabric.  "  This  must 
be  wuth  as  much's  ten  dollars  a  yard." 

The  eyes  of  the  two  young  men  met,  and  both  turned 
away  to  conceal  a  smile,  when  the  door  opened  with  a 
bang,  and  Mrs.  General  and  her  daughters  made  their 
appearance. 

"  Dear  me,  Gentlemen,  I'm  really  very  happy.  So  kind 
of  you,  Mr.  Staggers.  I  hope  I  see  you  quite  well,  Mr. 
Boynton.  You  were  very  good  to  come  before  leaving 
town,  Mr.  Eliot,  and  town  so  dull  just  now." 

"  Oh,  dreadful !"  piped  Zerlina  Yon  Donk,  in  a  high 
monotone,  without  the  slightest  trace  of  modulation,  "  'taint 
gay  a  bit  now  !" 

"And  all  our  set  out  of  town,"  chorused  Yioletta,  in 
precisely  the  same  voice,  and  with  startling  rapidity, 
"  you'll  see  no  life  at  all,  Mr.  Eliot,  till  you  get  to  New- 
port !" 

"  I'm  sure  I  find  New  York  very  interesting,"  said 
Eliot,  through  the  confusion  of  salutations  and  finding  of 
seats, 

"Pretty  pattern,  ain't  it,  Mr.  Staggers  ?"  continued  Mrs. 
General,  who,  to  the  amusement  of  Eliot,  exhibited  no 
more  surprise  than  that  gentleman  did  embarrassment 
at  being  caught  in  the  act  of  examining  and  appraising  her 
carpet.  "  I  do  take  great  pride  in  my  house,"  proceeded 
she,  gracefully  receiving  the  broker's  enthusiastic  acquies- 
cence. "  If  it  wasn't  for  servants,  I  should  have  nothing  to 
ask  for.  They  are  so  troublesome,  and  do  you  know  they 
get  worse  and  worse  every  year." 

"  Mr.  Boynton  doesn't  know  such  troubles,"  cried  Zerlina, 
gazing  at  the  young  planter  with  a  mixture  of  envy  and 
awe,  "he  has  the  same  servants  always,  and  they  have 
to  be  respectful  and  obedient." 

"But  they  need  so  much  care  and  watching.  Miss  Yon 
Donk,"  said  Boynton,  "  I  doubt  you  would  save  trouble, 
could  you  make  the  exchange." 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  83 

"But  you  have  foreign  servants,  I  hear,"  remarked  Eliot 
to  the  elder  lady. 

"  Oh  certainly,  some  of  them.  We  have  a  French  cook, 
and  the  girls  have  a  French  maid,  and  we've  a  Scotch 
coachman,  and  an  English  footman,  but  for  housemaids 
(who  give  the  most  trouble  always),  we  must  have  these 
low  Irish ; — and  they're  such  a  dreadful  nuisance.  Such 
silks  and  feathers  and  gold  watches  as  they  wear ; — and 
getting  more  impudent  and  neglectful  and  independent 
every  year." 

"  I'm  glad  you  like  New  York,"  squealed  Yioletta ;  "  of 
course  it  aiut  anteek  like  London,  nor  commy-fo  like  Paris, 
but  it  has  beauties  of  its  own.  You  must  see  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Hotel,  and  the  Academy,  and  the  Central  Park, 
and  the  High  Bridge,  and — " 

"  La,  Yioletta,"  interrupted  her  sister,  "  Mr.  Eliot  doesn't 
want  to  see  such  things.  He  comes  to  see  Niagara,  and  the 
Mississippi,  and  the  Natural  Bridge,  and  most  of  all,  our 
best  society." 

"  And  where's  General  Yon  Donk,  ma'am,"  inquired 
Mr.  Staggers,  with  affectionate  interest,  "  haint  he  come  up 
yet  from  down  town  ?" 

"  Oh  dear,  yes.  He'll  be  here  in  a  minute.  He's  got 
somebody  in  the  library.     Some  political  business." 

Mr.  Staggers  looked  intensely  sly,  and  proceeded, 
"  Guess  he'll  run,  won't  he  ?" 

"Really  I  don't  know,"  replied  Mrs.  General.  "  It  cost 
him  twenty  thousand,  year  before  last;  expenses,  you 
know,  for  Pythagoras  Hall.  You  know  Pythagoras  Hall, 
of  course,  Mr.  Eliot?" 

Mr.  Eliot  hadn't  the  honor — had  never  heard  of  him,  in 
fact. 

Mr.  Staggers  explained  that  this  was  the  popular  but 
accidental  designation  of  a  certain  political  organization. 

"Well,"  continued  Mrs.  General,  "he  don't  like  to 
spend  money  pretty  well,  but  they're  trying  hard  to  get 
him  into  it  again,  I  reckon.  Mr.  Kole  says  he's  the  man  of 
the  people,  and  made  a  speech  last  week  in  which  he  referred 


84  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

to  '  a  high  office  in  the  gift  of  a  grateful  people,  awaiting 
the  acceptance  of  that  incorruptible  patriot  and  high-toned 
gentleman,  P.  Von  Donk.'  But  the  General  says  thej  are 
rather  heavy  on  him,  whatever  that  may  mean." 

"  P.  Yon  Donk's  the  man  for  my  money,"  cried  the 
Broker,  with  great  enthusiasm,  "  You  know,  ma'am," 
added  he  in  a  confidential  manner,  "  that  office's  wuth 
raore'n  two  to  one  what  it  was  year  before  last,  and  that 
makes  a  heap  of  difference." 

"I  presume,"  ventured  Eliot,  "that  you  manage  elec- 
tions very  much  as  we  do  in  England  ?" 

"  Pooty  much,  sir,  pooty  much — exceptin'  always,  we 
don't  exclude  the  hand  of  honest  toil  from  its  share  in 
governin'  !  All  vote  alike  unless  it's  niggers,  which 
is  different,  I  take  it,  from  all  them  ere  rotten  old  aris- 
tocracies of  Europe — no  offence  to  yoii^  Mr.  Eliot." 

"  Oh,  none  in  the  least,"  said  Eliot,  highly  delighted  and 
edified.  "  I  think  all  such  experiments  have  their  value, 
and  if  yours  is  successful  after  a  fair  trial,  I've  no  doubt 
we  shall  ultimately  copy  it." 

'*  Dear  me,  I  hope  not,"  ejaculated  Zerlina.  "  Your  Queen, 
and  Lords,  and  Commons,  and  all  are  so  nice — everything 
so  settled,  and  orderly,  and  genteel.  Gossamer  says  our 
system  is  fearfully  low,  and  that  all  political  power  is 
falling  into  the  hands  of  the  very  dregs  of  society." 

"  For  shame,  Zerlina,"  interposed  Mrs.  General.  "  Your 
brother  knows  nothing  about  it.  He  only  says  that  be- 
cause De  Talbot  Jones  says  so  all  the  time  at  the  Club, 
and  Gossy  thinks  it's  fine  and  distongayr 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  ma,"  persisted  Zerlina,  "  I  don't 
see  what  great  honor  there  is  in  being  an  office-holder, 
when  such  people  get  in  as  there  are  now.  There's  our 
butcher  running  for  Alderman  of  this  Ward,  and  there's 
McSqueeze  who  cheated  his  nieces  out  of  their  property, 
and  set  his  shop  on  fire  to  get  the  Insurance,  he's  in 
the  Common  Council,  and  there's  that  Mayhem  who  bit 
a  man's  nose  off,  and  only  came  out  of  the  Penitentiary 
last  year,  he's  nominated  for  Supervisor — " 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  85 

"  Spots  on  the  sun,  Miss  Zerlina,"  interrupted  Staggers, 
"  spots  on  the  sun,  which  only  shows  off  more  bright  and 
refulgent  the  glory  of  our  democratic  institootions." 

This  novel  illustration,  delivered  with  a  glibness  which 
suggested  frequent  use,  served  as  a  cue  for  the  entrance  of 
General  Von  Donk,  who  now  presented  himself,  and  came 
forward  to  greet  his  visitors.  The  General  was  a  short 
thick  man,  with  a  red  face,  and  an  exaggerated  cerebellum. 
He  spoke  slowly,  with  no  little  pomp,  and  seemed  to  have 
some  trifle  in  his  mouth  which  impeded  his  utterance. 

"  How  are  you,  Mr.  Staggers  ?  How  are  you,  Elias  P.  ? 
Mr.  who  ?  Oh,  Mr.  Eliot — sir — your  most  obedient — very 
glad  I'm  sure — company  of  all  distinguished  foreigners — 
Mr.  who  ?  oh,  Mr.  Boynton — delighted — sunny  South — 
happy  combination,  eh  ?  Effete  old  despotism  and  land  of 
the  Free  and  the  home  of  the — " 

"La,  pa,"  said  Mrs.  General,  coming  to  the  rescue,  "  what 
are  you  talking  about  ?" 

The  General  wasn't  quite  sure.  He  was  very  glad  to 
see  all  the  gentlemen.  He  fidgeted  a  little,  bit  his  nails, 
blew  his  nose,  and  finally  subsided  into  a  huge  arm-chair 
in  a  corner.  Mrs.  General  glared  at  him  with  a  severity 
elicited  by  her  conviction  that,  as  was  sometimes  the  case, 
the  General  had  been  indulging  rather  too  freely  in  cock- 
tails. 

"  We're  going  to  beat  'em  hollow,  sir,"  he  declared  ora- 
cularly to  Elias  P.  "We've  got  all  the  Irish  vote — Lysan- 
dy's  got  that  in  his  pocket ;  then  we've  got  all  the  liquor- 
dealers  and  policy-shops ;  all  the  sporting  men  we  have,  of 
course  ;  then  the  Crier  and  the  Yahoo  are  comin'  out 
heavy  on  the  cussed  Abolitionists;  you'll  like  that,  won't 
you,  Mr.  Boynton  ?  then  there's  a  lot  of  emigrant  ships 
due  before  the  election — five  or  six  thousand  more,  sure ; 
altogether  things  have  a  very  good  look." 

"  That's  the  talk,  General,"  said  Elias  P. ;  "  nothin'  like 
making  your  calculations  well  in  advance."  And  the  two 
launched  into  a  mysterious  labyrinth  of  political  slang 
and  mutual  confidences,  wherein  the  names  of  "  Pythago- 


86  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

ras  Hall,"  and  "  Lysander  Kole,"  and  the  feasibility  of 
"  crushing  the  Niggerheads,"  and  "  conciliating  Hominy," 
were  uniatclligibly  mingled. 

Eliot  and  Boynton,  having  exhausted  their  small  talk 
with  the  ladies,  took  their  departure,  after  reiterating  their 
promise  to  present  themselves  at  Newport  during  the 
ensuing  season, 

"  These  men  are  of  your  political  party,  are  they  not  ?" 
asked  Eliot,  as  they  descended  the  steps. 

"Yes;  they  are  our  allies,"  said  the  Southerner,  with 
something  like  a  sigh.  And  the  young  men  walked  arm- 
in-arm  down  the  street. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


IT  is  a  law  from  whose  operation  we  can  no  more  escape 
than  can  the  people  of  less  favored  nations,  that  politi- 
cal and  social  standards  rise  or  fall  in  a  community  in 
direct  sympathy  with  the  virtue  and  culture  of  its  public 
men.  The  proposition  may  of  course  be  stated  conversely 
and  be  equally  true.  Measured  by  this  standard,  the  peo- 
ple of  the  United  States  have  been  steadily  deteriorating 
for  the  past  quarter  of  a  century.  This  is  not  a  very  agree- 
able statement,  but  it  is  a  true  one,  and  the  conclusion  is 
well  found.  Educated  Americans  may  plead  that  the  pub- 
lic men  of  their  country  do  not  justly  represent  its  better 
classes,  but  in  so  doing  they  concede  the  truth  of  the  argu- 
ment ;  for  what  is  it  but  decline  in  virtue  that  can  give 
birth  to  the  criminal  supineness  which  furnishes  the  reason 
why  those  classes  are  not  represented,  as  is  alleged  ?  Surely 
the  Fathers  never  intended  the  existing  order  of  things. 
Universal  suffrage  is  philosophically  reasonable  only  when 
ALL  classes  of  the  community  actively  exercise  the  right 
to  vote,  each  class  thus  exerting  a  check  on  the  possible 
excesses  or  vagaries  of  the  others.     But  if,  when  a  theore- 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  87 

tical  universal  suffrage  exists,  the  great  mass  of  the  poor 
and  ignorant  exert  not  their  privilege,  the  putative  demo- 
cracy approaches  an  oligarchy,  as  is  seen  in  the  Southern 
States.  And  if,  in  such  a  case,  the  great  mass  of  the 
wealthy  and  educated  exert  not  their  privilege,  the  puta- 
tive democracy  approaches  a  mobocracy,  as  is  seen  in  the 
Northern  States.  In  point  of  fact,  the  abstinence  in  the 
first  hypothesis  is  compulsory,  and  therefore  innocent ;  but 
in  the  second  it  is  voluntary,  and  therefore  criminal.  Re- 
sults have  verified  tliat  the  tendency  in  the  former  case  is 
to  thrust  into  power  despots ;  in  the  latter,  demagogues. 
They  have  also  shown  that  such  apparently  antagonistic 
elements  can  assimilate  for  interested  purposes — the  dema- 
gogues agreeing  to  perpetuate  despotism  so  long  as  they 
can  share  in  its  profits  ;  the  despots  agreeing  to  perpetuate 
mobocracy,  so  long  as  they  can  purchase  its  sufirage.  Both 
have  been  going  further  and  further  away  from  a  true  Demo- 
cracy, but  in  opposite  directions.  By  and  by,  with  in- 
creasing and  overwhelming  pressure,  the  venal  links  which 
have  united  them  will  fly  asunder  with  a  mighty  crash — 
and  then  will  come  the  storm. 

Those  who  have  power,  however  obtained,  will  use  it  to 
put  in  high  places  men  like  themselves.  The  low  and 
ignorant  hate  polish  and  cultivation  ;  the  wicked  and 
unscrupulous  detest  the  virtuous  and  conscientious.  Re- 
membering this,  how  can  Americans  expect  to  be  well 
served  or  honored  by  their  pubHc  men,  when  the  power  of 
the  low  and  ignorant,  the  wicked  and  unscrupulous,  has 
been  yearly  on  the  increase  'I  How  can  they  look  to  be 
respected  abroad  when  governed  at  home  by  those  who 
have  neither  the  virtue  to  do  right,  nor  the  education  to 
know  how,  even  if  so  disposed  ?  There  are,  to  be  sure, 
noble  exceptions.  There  have  been  many  men  of  the 
South  with  culture  and  no  virtue  ;  there  have  been  many 
men  of  the  North  of  virtue  and  no  culture.  Each  have 
sown  abundant  mischief  for  their  country  to  reap  in  the 
future.  There  have  also  been  men,  both  North  and  South, 
who  have  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  exhibit  in  an  eminent 


88  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

degree  both  these  great  qualities  of  character  and  educa- 
tion ;  and  as  soon  as  the  exhibition  has  produced  convic- 
tion, their  grateful  countrymen  have  quickly  taken  the 
alarm  and  swept  them  into  political  oblivion. 

To  such  a  height  has  this  proscription  of  merit  attained, 
that  clever  men,  ambitious  of  office,  have  been  known  to 
go  about  pretending  to  be  numskulls,  that  they  might 
establish  a  fraternal  claim  on  the  constituency  they  sought 
to  propitiate.  The  mob  will  only  forgive  ability  on  condi- 
tion that  a  leaven  of  unquestionable  turpitude  be  associated 
with  it.  They  can  only  excuse  probity  when  the  intellec- 
tual dulness  of  its  possessor  has  been  satisfactorily  esta- 
blished. The  fate  of  the  candidate  who,  not  to  be  para- 
doxical, is  so  injudicious  as  to  be  both  good  and  wise,  can 
safely  be  predicted  in  advance. 

The  offices  in  the  gift  of  a  great  and  free  people  ought 
surely  to  be  the  highest  objects  of  ambition  to  its  most 
intellectual  and  upright  citizens,  but  with  us  what  is  the 
fact  ?  Is  it  not  notorious  that  the  standards  of  qualifica- 
tion for  every  political  position,  from  President  to  Excise- 
man, are  becoming  constantly  lower  and  more  contempti- 
ble? Is  it  not  true  that  ignorant,  brutalized,  nay,  often 
undeniably  wicked  men,  clamber  to  high  places  now,  whom 
public  opinion  twenty  years  ago  would  not  for  a  moment 
have  tolerated  in  low  ones?  Can  it  be  denied  that  this 
political  degeneracy  has  steadily  induced  social  degeneracy, 
so  that  merit,  virtue,  character,  count  for  nothing  in  the 
balance  against  mere  unworthy  success?  Can  it  not  be 
demonstrated  that  the  vilest,  the  most  slavish  form  of  dol- 
lar-worship, the  most  vulgar  and  contemptible  ostracism  of 
education  and  intellect,  never  so  nearly  approached  the 
lowest  depths  of  which  they  are  capable  as  they  do  among 
us  to-day  ? 

And  yet  all  these  gross  evils  of  Saiis  culottes  rulers, 
money-idolatry,  hate  and  contempt  for  brain,  perversion 
of  the  noble  theory  of  democracy  to  a  tyranny  of  the  few 
in  the  South,  and  a  tyranny  of  the  many  in  the  North, — 
all  this  bragging  and  inflation  and  telling  of  fantastical 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  89 

lies, — all  this  shallow,  shopkeeping,  conceited  manner  of 
viewing  life  and  its  obligations, — all  this  pander-like  truck- 
ling and  compounding  with  a  huge  national  crime  by  men 
chronically  hoarse  with  shouting  as  their  first  maxim,  "  all 
men  are  born  free  and  equal," — all  these  and  more  nauseat- 
ing excrescences  have  sprung  from  roots  as  pure  as  snow, 
— from  motives  as  catholic  and  generous  as  ever  actuated 
human  intelligence.  "All  things  the  worst  are  corrup- 
tions from  things  originally  designed  as  best." 

America,  with  noble  and  lofty  liberality,  opened  her  pro- 
tecting arms  to  the  oppressed,  the  downtrodden,  the  misera- 
ble of  all  the  nations  of  the  earth.  She  went  further,  and 
offered  them  freely  all  the  privileges,  all  the  birthrights  of 
her  own  sons,  born  and  nursed  in  her  bosom.  This  was 
magnanimous,  but  it  was  not  therefore  wise.  She  should 
have  educated  before  she  enfranchised,  and  the  exile  re- 
quired more^  not  less,  enlightenment,  than  the  child  who  had 
breathed  the  life-long  atmosphere  of  freedom.  The  moral 
and  political  Caspar  Hausers  should  not  have  been  ex- 
pected to  do  credit  to  themselves  or  their  hosts  by  entering 
the  arena  with  athletes  before  the  cramps  and  prejudices 
and  superstitions  of  their  previous  lives  had  been  corrected 
by  the  graduated  invigoration  of  the  gymnasium.  The 
process  is  baneful  to  themselves  as  well  as  to  those  with 
whom  they  commingle.  The  clearness  of  their  perceptions 
is  blunted,  among  other  evils,  by  the  enjoyment  of  a  bless- 
ing they  have  done  nothing  to  earn.  Question  them  on 
that  point  to-day,  and  they  will  arrogantly  claim  as  a  right 
incontestable,  that  which  is  only  theirs  by  generous,  if 
injudicious,  concession.  America  has  made  the  mistake 
of  a  too  indulgent  parent.  She  has  bestowed  the  reward 
which  properly  waits  on  toil  and  discipline  without  exact- 
ing those  preliminaries.  She  has  enfranchised  before  she 
has  educated,  and  the  tardy  remedy  is  education,  large  and 
universal,  but  given  in  the  inverse  order.  The  suffrage 
should  be  contracted,  and,  simultaneously,  the  schools 
should  be  expanded ;  the  first  need  only  last  for  a  space, 
but  the  second  should  last  for  all  time. 


90  dangerfield's  rest;  or, 

Even  the  toleration  of  that  darker  Wrong  which  has  so 
impeded  Progress  can  trace  its  being  back  to  motives  com- 
mendable and  "  designed  as  best,"  One  who  hates  it  with 
a  bitter  and  loyal  hatred  has  said, — and  his  saying  deserves 
respect  as  that  of  a  man  who  has  breasted  all  but  singly 
a  perfect  hurricane  of  obloquy  in  his  adherence  to  a  just 
cause, — "  To  oppose  England  it  was  necessary  to  be  Uni- 
ted ;  and  to  be  United  it  was  necessary  to  tolerate  Slavery." 
This  was  indubitably  true,  and  may  now  be  more  readily 
accepted  in  view  of  the  fact  that,  happily,  to  be  United  it 
is  not  necessary  to  tolerate  Slavery  any  more  than  to  oppose 
England — so  far  as  the  great  sections  are  concerned — it 
would  be  necessary  to  be  United.  But  the  Wrong  should 
vanish  with  the  necessity  which  palliated  it. 

The  panaceas  for  our  evils,  social  and  political,  are  Edu- 
cation and  Liberty — and  they  should  be  administered  in 
their  natural  consecution.  We  are  on  the  right  path, 
but  we  might  almost  as  well  be  on  the  wrong  one  if  we 
either  go  too  fast  or  walk  backwards.  Either  is  opposed 
to  true  Progress,  and  it  is  high  time  to  take  special  pains 
to  avoid  both  if  we  would  not  stumble  into  anarchy.  We 
walk  backwards  when  we  legislate  for  the  extension  of 
Slavery,  we  go  too  fast  when  we  confide  the  Suffrage  to 
the  ignorant  and  undeserving.  Nor  will  this  noble  country 
achieve  its  destiny  in  greatness  or  in  culture  until  the  be- 
littling scheme  for  innumerable  petty  sovereignties  each 
sufficient  in  and  to  itself,  and  each  independent  of  all  others, 
be  practically  abandoned  ;  a  scheme  which  tends  to  the 
establishment  of  the  civilization  and  manners,  as  it  copies 
the  political  system  of  the  aboriginal  savages  who  preceded 
us  in  possession  of  the  soil.  The  pilhirs  are  necessary  to 
support  the  roof  and  crown  of  the  edifice,  but  without  it 
neither  of  them  could  stand  alone.  To  isolate  any  of 
their  number  is  to  overthrow  the  whole.  Let  Americans 
take  heed  that  they  jealously  guard  and  preserve  their 
beautiful  and  symmetrical  Temple — the  precious  legacy 
erected  by  their  ancestors  at  such  bitter  cost  of  blood  and 
travail.     Let  them  take  heed  that  the  mad  phrensy  of  am- 


BEFORE   THE  STORM.  91 

bitious  oligarchs  and  the  combined  efforts  of  wily  and 
ignorant  foreigners  shall  be  crushed  alike  by  inflexible 
patriotism.  So  shall  the  home  of  Liberty  be  preserved  for 
the  generations  to  come,  and  posterity  be  spared  the  sad 
spectacle  of  our  children's  children  wandering  disconsolate 
among  its  broken  arches  and  its  fallen  columns. 


CHAPTER  X. 

UNDER  a  spreading  elm  with  a  fine  old  house  a  hundred 
yards  to  their  right,  and  the  broad  Hudson  silvering 
away  seaward  far  below  on  their  left,  sat  a  party  whom 
either  the  eye  or  the  ear  of  an  observer  would  have  told 
him  were  supremely  happy.  Three  lovely  girls — who,  but 
for  the  childish  form  of  the  younger,  might  have  shamed 
the  choicest  ideal  of  the  Graces — formed  a  group  of  uncon- 
scious beauty,  the  effect  of  which  was  heightened  by  the 
heaps  of  flowers  which  filled  the  laps  of  the  elder,  and 
from  which  they  had  crowned  the  glossy  head  of  their 
little  protegee  between  them.  So  thought  Oliver  Vernon, 
who  had  approached  unobserved,  and  who  stood  a  few 
paces  off,  leaning  on  his  staff,  and  listening  to  the  musical 
laughter  which  pealed  from  the  rosy  lips  before  him.  A 
short  space  behind,  again,  stood  a  man  of  about  fifty  years 
of  age,  whose  spare,  sinewy  form,  long  features,  and  kindly 
twinkling  grey  eyes,  told  plainly  that  their  owner  had 
sprung  from  the  land  of  the  Puritans. 

A  genuine  New  Englander  was  David  Greenwood. 
Shrewd,  industrious,  and  sententious,  he  came  of  people 
who  tilled  the  soil,  worshipped  God,  and  spoke  their  native 
tongue  after  the  fashion  of  their  fathers.  His  steadfast 
integrity  had,  years  gone  by,  recommended  him  to  the 
confidence  of  Vernon,  and  he  had  long  filled  a  position 
such  as  a  steward  occupies  in  old-fashioned  families  in 
England.     It  was  even  one  of  greater  trust  and  respon- 


92  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

sibility,  for  his  attachment  to  the  family  and  to  the  interests 
of  its  head  had  been  so  proved  and  tried,  that  most  matters 
were  left  to  his  untrammelled  discretion,  and  his  authority 
at  Uplands  was  only  second  to  that  of  Vernon  himself 
Between  this  personage  and  Aunt  Mercy,  who  had  super- 
vised the  household  affairs  since  the  early  death  of  Mrs. 
Vernon,  and  who  was  the  only  inmate  who  ever  ventured 
to  dispute  David's  supremacy,  there  had  existed  for  many 
years  a  solemn  flirtation  which  every  now  and  then 
threatened  to  arrive  at  a  climax,  and  then  subsided  into  the 
old  routine  again.  The  worthy  couple  appeared  to  imagine 
that  they  were  destined  to  live  for  ever,  and  that  there  was 
"  time  enough"  always  to  take  a  step  which  should  only  be 
contemplated  with  extreme  gravity  and  deliberation.  "  It's 
darned  easy,"  reasoned  our  calculating  Eomeo,  "  it's  darned 
easy  runnin'  your  head  into  a  noose,  but  it  ain't  so  slick 
haulin'  of  it  out  again."  So  time  rolled  on,  and  Aunt 
Mercy  and  Uncle  Dave  were  still  in  a  state  of  single 
blessedness. 

"Oh,  papa!"  cried  Grace,  catching  sight  of  the  intru- 
ders, "  how  is  poor  Gerty  ?  And  what  does  Dr.  Saunders 
say  of  her  ?" 

Vernotx  shook  his  head.  "Her  bodily  health  will  soon 
be  restored,  he  thinks — the  mental  is  still  dubious.  Her 
head  is  no  clearer  than  it  was  on  the  day  she  was  taken 
from  the  wreck — perhaps  may  never  be." 

The  child's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  took  the 
wreath  gently  from  her  head.  "  I  don't  want  to  wear 
flowers  if  Gerty  is  never  to  get  well,"  she  mui'mured  as  if 
in  the  way  of  apology. 

Vernon  raised  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  affec- 
tionately. "  You  mustn't  fret  about  that.  Darling,  since 
'tis  God's  will.  Gerty  doesn't  suffer  pain.  If  she  had  not 
made  the  sacrifices  she  did,  you  might  not  now  be  alive 
and  with  us.     Does  Ally  want  me  to  find  her  papa?" 

The  child  looked  at  him  wistfully,  and  put  her  arms 
about  his  neck. 

"  I'd  rather  stay  with  you — and  sister  Grace — and  sister 


BEFOEE   THE   STORM.  93 

Nelly."  For  she  had  been  taught  to  use  the  endearing 
appellation. 

"  You  havn't  heard  any  thing,  papa  ?"  asked  Grace, 
anxiously. 

"  Nothing  more  than  I  knew  before,  my  child.  As  to 
whom  the  little  girl  belongs,  I  entertain  no  doubt ; — bul 
much  as  to  the  policy  of  restoring  her.  Conflicting  claims 
may  arise — and  until  these  are  adjusted,  at  least,  it  may  be 
better  for  all  concerned  that  she  remains  with  us." 

"  Can't  I  stay  always  ?"  asked  Ally  pleadingly.  "  I 
can't  go  back  to  Aunty  now,  for  she's  got  some  new  little 
girls — and  I  don't  want  to  go  to  a  papa  I  never  saw — and 
Gerty's  crazy,  and  I  must  stay  with  her." 

"  Indeed,  dear,  you  shall  not  leave  us  if  I  can  prevent 
it,"  said  Vernon,  gently. 

"  But  you  can  prevent  it — you  are  a  man,  and  rich,  and 
strong,  and  you  own  all  the  land  about  here,  and  nobody 
can  take  me  away  unless  you  like." 

"  Suppose  sister  Grace  had  been  lost,  and  a  gentleman 
had  found  and  taken  charge  of  her,  shouldn't  I  have  the 
right  to  go  and  take  her  when  I  found  out  where  she 
was?" 

"  Oh !  but  you  wouldn't  if  she  wanted  ever  so  much  to 
stay  where  she  was,  and  they  wanted  her  to  stay  too." 

"But  all  people  are  not  so  good  and  kind  as  papa,"  sug- 
gested Grace,  coming  to  Yernon's  relief,  "  and  might  not 
be  so  generous,  you  know." 

"  That's  why  I  want  to  stay  with  him,"  said  the  child 
simply. 

"And  so  you  shall,"  cried  the  warm-hearted  girl  impul- 
sively, "  and  as  long  as  you  please,  and  I  don't  care  who 
tries  to  prevent  it;"  and  away  she  ran  over  the  turf,  the 
tiny  philosopher  scampering  hand-in-hand  by  her  side. 

Elinor  rose  and  stood  by  Yernon's  side,  and  then  the 
two,  as  if  by  previous  concert,  walked  slowly  towards  the 
cliff. 

"You  have  verified  what  we  suspected?"  she  inquired, 
in  a  low  voice. 


94  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  I  have.  The  inquiry  was  immediately  successful.  I 
got  the  reply  since  breakfast.  It  is  here,"  and  he  placed  a 
letter  in  her  hands,  which  she,  after  asking  leave  with  a 
mute  sign,  put  in  a  pocket  of  her  dress.  They  walked  on 
in  silence  for  a  while,  when  Elinor  again  spoke : 

"  Where  is  she  now  ?" 

"  In  New  York.  It  is  best  I  should  see  her  myself — 
after  taking  legal  advice,  of  course.  I  shall  go  to  town  for 
the  purpose  to-morrow." 

Another  pause,  lasting  for  a  few  moments,  and  again 
broken  by  Elinor : — 

"  Do  you  think  it  best  that  I  should  also  go  ?" 

*'  Under  existing  circumstances,  I  should  say  decidedly 
not  ;  certainly  not  before  I  ascertain  the  condition  of 
things." 

"  You  do  not  intend  resigning  the  child  into  her  cus- 
tody?" 

"  Not  willingly,  certainly.  The  case  is  a  very  difficult 
one.  Legally  speaking,  hers  would  be,  I  believe,  the  best 
claim.  The  little  one  has  been  in  the  charge,  and  practi- 
cally under  the  control,  of  her  father.  You  know  how 
unscrupulous  he  is  ;  should  we  give  her  up,  he  may  give 
us  serious  trouble." 

"  He  is  not  in  the  country." 

"  He  has  returned  during  our  absence,  and  is  now  in 
New  York." 

Elinor  mused  for  a  few  moments,  and  when  she  spoke 
her  voice  was  full  of  disquietude. 

"  Are  we  never  to  see  the  end  of  that  terrible  business  ?" 

Yernon  took  her  hand  with  an  affectionate  smile. 

"  My  dear  girl,  none  of  us  escape  afflictions  in  some  form 
or  another.  Let  us  thank  Heaven  yours  have  arisen  from 
no  fault  of  your  own.  There  is  no  need  to  revive  the  sad 
story  of  the  past.  I  shall  do  my  utmost  to  induce  both 
parties  to  leave  the  child  in  ray  charge  as  an  easy  and  judi- 
cious compromise.  The  mother  has  sense  and  discretion 
enough  to  perceive  the  advantage  to  Ally  herself  in  such  an 
arrangement ;  the  father — whose  protection  to  my  mind  is 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  95 

even  less  desirable — is  selfish  enough  to  be  willing  to 
escape  responsibility  if  assured  that  his  daughter's  future 
is  not  to  be  associated  with  that  of  her  mother." 

"  You  do  not  think  he  will  molest " 

"  He  can  have  no  motive  for  doing  so.  Bad  as  the  man 
is,  he  is  not  a  person  to  give  himself  trouble  unless  he  sees 
some  immediate  advantage  to  be  derived  from  it.  Besides, 
his  past  life  has  been  so  equivocal  that  he  will  be  cautious 
about  provoking  new  enemies." 

Elinor  sighed  and  proceeded  : 

"  I  cannot  help  feeling  guilty  at  times,  surrounded  as  1 
am  by  friends  and  comfort — feeling  as  if  I  were  leaving 
duty  unfulfilled,  in  not  at  least  attempting  to  reclaim,  to 
restore " 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  do  me  the  credit  to  believe  I  have 
thought  of  that  much  and  seriously,"  said  Oliver  Vernon, 
mildly  ;  "  my  conclusion  is,  as  it  has  been,  that,  in  attempt- 
ing what  is  natural  and  filial  to  contemplate,  you  would 
but  mar  your  own  life,  and  impair  its  prospects  of  useful- 
ness as  well  as  happiness,  without  mending  or  strengthen- 
ing that  of  another.  That  is  a  work  in  the  hands  of 
a  Higher  Power,  and  one  which  will  be  effected  in  His 
good  season.  But,  independently  of  such  considerations, 
you  should  remember  the  dying  injunctions  of  your 
father." 

"  I  do — I  do — and  not  least  the  one  which  enjoined  me  to 
be  guided  by  your  wishes  and  counsel  as  his  chosen  suc- 
cessor." And  she  kissed  affectionately  the  hand  which  was 
clasped  in  her  own. 

"Very  well,  then;  both  my  wishes  and  my  counsel  just 
now  are  that  you  should  think  of  this  unhappy  subject  as 
little  as  possible,"  said  Vernon  cheerfully.  "I  mustn't 
have  my  pretty  Nelly  moping  herself  to  a  shadow,  and 
getting  circles  about  her  bright  eyes,  because  of  griefs 
which  cannot  be  remedied,  and  which  she  had  no  hand  in 
causing.  Moreover,  I  shall  give  her  over  into  the  hands 
of  Dr.  Saunders,  unless  she  agrees  to  accept  my  regimen." 

"  Which  is " 


96  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  Plenty  of  open  air,  plenty  of  exercise  in  the  saddle, 
and  a  course  of  Charles  Kingsley's  novels !" 

"  And  we  too,  papa,"  cried  merry  Grace,  dancing  up. 
"  Are  not  Ally  and  I  to  share  in  these  luxuries  ?" 

"  Surely — as  fast  as  you  can  use  and  profit  by  them. 
Worthy  David  here  says  that  Dapple  and  Lily  are  as  glad 
to  see  you  back  as  he  is,  and  that  they  sadly  need  exercise 
— and  the  Shetland  pony  will  do  capitally  for  Ally." 

The  child's  eyes  grew  brighter  and  larger  at  the  sugges- 
tion. 

"  I  have  been  on  a  pony  before,"  said  she,  "  on  aunty's 
plantation ;  and  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid." 

"  That's  a  darling.  Nobody  here  is  afraid  of  horses  or 
dogs.  "We  are  fond  of  them  all,  and  kind  to  them,  and  so 
they  are  kind  to  us.  You've  been  very  lucky,  Davy,  with 
the  stock — not  a  loss  or  an  accident  in  the  whole  year  and 
a  half!" 

"  Well,  sir,  we've  been  pooty  kearful,"  said  David  Green- 
wood, with  his  shrewd  and  good-natured  smile;  "we've 
been  pooty  kearful,  and  then  agin  we've  been  pooty  lucky. 
Them  ere  Durrums  don't  stand  the  winter  quite  as  well  as 
the  native  critters,  which  is  nateral  enough.  They  have  to 
kinder  git  used  to't.  But  the  heifers  and  steers  as  comes 
from  the  cross  is  beautiful  and  hearty  as  so  many  bucks." 

"And  the  people  have  all  got  on  nicely  and  amicably 
together  ?" 

"  Sartain.  They  have  their  little  fidgets  and  squabbles 
sometimes,  but  never  nuthin'  to  hurt.  Jim  and  his  wife's 
been,  maybe,  a  little  slack  now  and  then,  'bout  keepin' 
things  slick  and  reg'lar  at  the  big  house  ;  but  Aunt  Massy 
she's  got  among  'cm  now  ;  she's  a  rarin'  and  drivin'  about, 
and  she'll  have  the  hull  thing  in  apple-pie  order  in  no 
time." 

"  Do  you  think  Aunt  Mercy  improved  by  her  travels  ?" 
asked  Grace,  her  eyes  dancing  mischievously. 

"Well,  Miss  Grace,  I  thought  at  first  she  was  altered  some. 
She  seemed  to  be  sorter  airy,  and  puttin'  on  furrin  ways. 
Our  folks  don't  like  them  kind  o'  ways.     But  I  guess  'twas 


BEFORE   THE  STORM.  97 

only  at  first,  feelin'  a  bit  strange  to  get  back — I  guess 
she's  the  same  old  sixpence.  She's  a  stunner  to  drive 
reound." 

And  David  relapsed  into  the  profound  consideration 
which  usually  followed  the  direction  of  his  thoughts  toward 
the  person  and  merits  of  Aunt  Mercy.  His  companions 
were  admiring  the  magnificent  panorama  which  had  for 
years  constituted  one  of  their  every -day  enjoyments,  but 
which,  since  their  return,  appeared  to  their  appreciative 
eyes  lovelier  than  ever  before. 

"  How  very  beautiful  it  is,"  said  Elinor,  musingly. 
"  Strange  there  should  seem  to  be  so  many  new  attractions 
about  what  we  have  scanned  so  often  and  so  closely  be- 
fore." 

"  'Tis  one  of  the  advantages  of  travel,"  remarked  Ver- 
non. "  The  view  remains  precisely  the  same,  but  your 
own  critical  and  comparative  faculties  are  more  highly 
developed,  so  that  you  see  more  than  you  were  able  to  see 
before." 

"  After  all,  papa,"  said  Grace,  "  in  all  our  ramblings,  we 
have  seen  nothing  more  glorious  of  its  kind  than  this 
stretch  from  the  Palisades  to  the  Narrows.  If,  as  you 
say,  the  highest  beauty  is  the  highest  use,  the  harbor  itself 
is  beautiful — but  its  surroundings,  in  variety,  in  coloring, 
in  general  effect  appear  to  me  quite  unrivalled." 

"  And  so  I  believe  they  are, — although  the  claims  of 
Naples,  of  Eio  de  Janeiro,  and  of  San  Francisco,  cannot 
be  ignored  ;  and  I  have  heard  stout  partisans  uphold  those 
of  Sydney  and  of  Port  Royal.  We  have  not,  indeed,  the 
architectural  elements  which  lend  so  much  of  reverence 
and  of  picturesque  effect  to  such  a  city  as  Edinburgh,  or 
such  a  river  as  the  Ehine ;  but  the  natural  capacities  are 
nowise  inferior  to  those  of  either  or  both." 

"  I  have  heard  people  argue  against  the  wisdom  of  tra- 
velling," remarked  Elinor,  "  on  the  groun^^  of  its  produc- 
ing discontent  with  things  humble  and  inevitable  at  home ; 
we  can,  at  least,  claim  exemption  from  such  a  misfortune. 
With  us  the  rule  clearly  works  the  other  way." 

5 


ya  DANGERFIELD'S  REST;    OR 

"  Much  depends  on  the  nature  and  education  of  the  sub- 
ject," responded  Vernon.  "  A  clown  may  be  ruined  and 
debauched  by  the  glitter  and  temptation  of  the  unaccus- 
tomed city,  while  a  wise  man  will  only  see  therein  fresh 
beacons  to  mark  the  channel  of  prudence,  fresh  reasons  to 
appreciate  and  enjoy  with  purer  zest  than  before,  the  calm 
and  unexciting  pleasures  of  his  rural  home.  It  is  true  that 
some  of  our  young  men  grow  worse  rather  than  better 
from  European  tours,  and  come  back  greater  fools  than 
they  went :  but  on  the  whole  the  effect  is  a  salutary  one, 
and  I  wish  that  every  American  w^ho  can  possibly  afford 
it,  would,  once  at  least  during  life,  cross  the  Atlantic. 
What  is  greatly  needed  with  us  is  the  cultivation  of  criti- 
cism and  comparison.  Our  insular  situation  is  not  favor- 
able to  such  culture,  and  attrition  with  the  incoming  foreign 
element  is  rather  injurious  than  otherwise,  because  that 
element  is,  as  a  rule,  drawn  from  the  lowest  social  strata 
of  the  old  nations.  Travel  is  necessary  to  obtain  attrition 
with  the  higher." 

"  Well,  papa,  whatever  may  be  the  philosophy  of  the 
fact,  I  feel  quite  sure  that  I  shall  be  happier  than  ever 
for  my  trip  to  Europe — shan't  you,  my  Pet  ?"  The 
latter  rather  incoherent  interrogatory  was  addressed  to  the 
little  girl,  who,  seeing  acquiescence  was  expected,  gave  it 
ungrudgingly. 

"  Most  of  my  happiest,  and  some  few  of  my  saddest  days 
have  been  passed  on  this  spot,"  said  Oliver  Vernon.  "May 
you  all,  my  children,  receive  here  a  greater  share  of  the 
joy — a  lesser  than  my  share  of  the  sorrow." 

And  their  hearts  beat  a  grateful  response  to  the  aspira- 
tion, and  even  the  shadow  which  had  fallen  over  that  of 
Elinor  was  dissipated  by  the  light  and  warmth  of  the  good 
man's  love. 


BEFORE   THE    STORM.  99 


CHAPTEE  XL 


IVTEWPORT  was,  as  Miss  Zerlina  Von  Donk  very  hap- 
J_\  pilj  described  it,  "  dreadful  gay"  that  season.  Almost 
everybody  was  there.  Almost  everybody  from  legislators, 
and  lawyers,  and  merchants,  to  "  butchers,  and  bakers, 
and  candlestick-makers,"  Sallow  Southerners  with  large 
diamonds,  and  Derringers  in  their  trousers'  pockets.  Boston 
traders  with  smug,  conceited  faces  and  priggish  garments. 
New  York  men  of  various  degrees  of  consideration  in  the 
wholesale  dry  goods,  '  W.  I.'  goods,  drug,  and  boot-and- 
shoe  line.  Third-rate  Italian  sin2;ers — choristers  and  con- 
fidantes  at  La  Scala,  but  indubitably  prima  assoluias  at  our 
"Academies."  Western  Congressmen  with  rustic  airs  and 
indescribable  habiliments.  Gamblers  from  the  great  cities 
laboring  under  the  delusion  common  to  their  class,  that 
their  dress  and  bearing  made  people  take  them  for  gentle- 
men. Shopmen  from  various  quarters,  taking  a  holiday, 
and  sharing  after  their  fashion  in  the  hallucination  of  the 
black-legs.  Scores  of  overdressed  peacock-voiced  women, 
bridling  and  shrieking,  in  halls,  and  carriages,  and  over 
the  sands.  Brunettes  from  Louisiana,  blondes  from  Mas- 
sachusetts. Fresh  and  rosy  girls  from  the  country,  worn 
and  pallid  girls  from  the  town.  Then,  besides  the  general 
mass — chiefly  found  at  the  great  hotels — there  were  many 
very  different  people  in  villas  and  cottages  which  dot  so 
thickly  the  pretty  winding  roads  and  lanes  extending  along 
the  coast.  There  were  many  people  of  goodly  estate — 
some  who  had  got  over,  a  couple  of  generations  back,  the 
aroma  of  wholesale  dry  goods,  W.  I.  goods,  drug,  and 
boot-and-shoe  lines.  Some  with  familiar  names,  descend- 
ants of  Revolutionary  worthies.  Some  very  large  land- 
owners of  the  North,  some  very  large  planters  of  the 
South.  You  always  see  the  names  of  the  latter  mixed  up 
with  political  life,  those  of  the  former  seldom  or  never.  A 
few  barristers  of  high  repute,  and  who  have  made  large 
fortunes,   are   here  with  their  families :   -  these  men — per- 


100  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

haps  the  best  thinkers  the  country  at  present  can  boast — 
also  refrain  studiously,  as  a  rule,  from  participation  in  pub- 
lic life.  Then  there  are  some  people  whom  it  is  common 
to  style  as  of  good  old  families — the  Deddingstones,  the 
Skuyduncks,  and  the  Yon  Quoits — who  have  handsome 
properties,  and  who  pay  very  low  taxes,  and  who  have 
nothing  whatever  to  do,  and  who  never  dream  by  any 
chance  that  they  owe  any  sort  of  duty  to  their  common 
country,  either  in  a  legislative  way,  or  in  that  of  serving 
the  cause  of  national  literature  or  art. 

There  are,  besides,  some  notabilities  of  unquestioned 
distinction.  Our  friends  the  Von  Donks,  of  course,  make 
a  sensation  wherever  they  go.  Gossamer  is  very  fast,  and 
verj'-  free  with  his  money,  and  the  girls  are  pretty,  and  will 
have  very  good  fortunes.  Moreover,  Mrs.  Greneral  luill 
have  a  very  flashy  equipage,  which  makes  people  turn 
round  always,  and  inquire  whose  it  is.  The  General  has 
"political  influence,"  and  a  vast  number  of  corner  lots  and 
brown-stone  houses,  so  that  his  individual  pomp  and  cir- 
cumstance augment  the  prestige  of  the  family  group.  Just 
at  present  he  is  making  a  feeble  effort  to  get  quite  sober 
against  election  time.  Then  there  is  Bobbinet,  the  great 
merchant,  who  has  established  almost  a  monopoly  in  lace 
and  kid  gloves,  and  who  built  the  magnificent  marble  shop 
in  Broadway,  which  looks  like  a  Brobdignagian  shoe-box 
painted  white  and  interlined.  Also,  the  great  Spinner, 
proprietor  of  the  Chambermaid^ s  Gazette,  with  his  fast 
"  team"  Bopeep  and  Eat-trap.  Slymer  has  also  arrived,  in 
high  feather  over  the  publication  of  a  sensation  article 
about  himself  in  the  Cne7',  which  represented  him  as 
"shaking  the  thrones  of  Europe"  by  some  inexplicable 
process,  which,  for  some  equally  inexplicable  reason,  it  was 
the  practice  of  that  singular  print  to  attribute  to  his, 
Slymer's,  "  diplomatic"  accomplishments.  A  further  an- 
nouncement under  the  head  of  "personal  movements"  to 
the  effect  that  "  TI.  Slymer,  Esq.,  Bearer  of  Despatches 
from  the  Court  of  St.  James,  had  arrived  at  the  St.  Germain 
Hotel,"   filled   his   cup  of  bliss    to   overflowing,  and   he 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  101 

tripped  away  afterward  from  Washington  to  the  sea-side  as 
happy  as  the  day  is  long.  Sprigg,  also,  is  of  the  company, 
trying  to  look  European,  and  racking  his  invention  to  the 
last  agony  to  keep  up  the  interest  of  his  daily  letters  to  the 
singular  print  aforesaid. 

Here,  also,  are  to  be  seen  the  Jefferson  Bunts,  who  made  a 
great  sensation  in  Paris  the  year  before  last.  Miss  Henrietta 
Jefferson  Bunt  married  a  real  Baron — the  Baron  De  Vieux 
Fromage — and  the  family  have  held  their  heads  very  high 
ever  since.  They  have  a  gaudy  turn-out,  with  an  over- 
whelming hammer-cloth,  a  coronet  on  the  panels,  and  foot- 
men in  gorgeous  liveries ;  altogether  an  affair  which  made 
Mrs.  General,  on  its  first  advent,  turn  quite  green  with 
envy.  They  tried  powder  on  the  coachman  when  they  first 
came  back,  but  it  wouldn't  quite  do.  The  founder  of  this 
distinguished  family,  T.  Jefferson  Bunt,  Esq.,  realized 
heavily  in  pork  some  twenty  years  ago,  out  West,  but  no 
one  knew  the  extent  of  his  acquisitions  until  within  a  very 
short  time  back,  when  the  Bunts  burst  like  a  meteor  upon 
the  starry  firmament  of  wealth  and  fashion,  and  have 
maintained  a  high  pitch  of  refulgence  ever  since. 

To  add  to  the  assemblage  of  celebrities,  we  may  see, 
among  others,  Darius  Graball,  Esq.,  the  great  contractor 
and  speculator,  who  has  made  himself  a  millionaire^  not  by 
swindling  individuals,  who  feel  their  losses  keenly  and 
have  long  memories,  but  by  swindling  the  public,  which 
feels  its  losses  lightly,  and  has  no  memory  at  all.  As  a 
reward  for  transactions  which,  morally  speaking,  should 
have  consigned  him  to  the  Penitentiary,  this  adroit  person 
is  highly  esteemed  and  respected  as  a  "bold  operator" — a 
first  rate  "  business  man."  His  boorish  manners  and  gross 
ignorance  are  quite  lost  sight  of  in  the  halo  of  glory  which 
surrounds  his  financial  success ;  and,  in  spite  of  a  turpitude 
which  no  ingenuity  could  deny  or  explain  away,  the  admi- 
ration for  that  success  is  such  that  the  man  could,  if  he 
chose,  be  elected  to  almost  any  high  ofiice. 

Such  were  a  few  among  the  many  conspicuous  or  much- 
talked-of  people,  who  were  driving,  flirting,  bathing,  sail- 


102  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

ing,  and  fishing  amid  the  glorious  breezes  and  the  charming 
scenery  of  this  the  principal  American  watering-place.  A 
week  had  passed  since  their  arrival,  and  although  both 
Cuthbert  Boynton  and  Kobert  Eliot  had  reasons  for  being 
elsewhere,  yet  the  novelty  of  their  surroundings,  added  to 
the  hospitable  persuasions  of  the  Von  Donks,  had  pre- 
vailed upon  them  to  remain  a  day  or  two  longer.  The 
young  Englishman,  indeed,  found  a  great  deal  to  amuse 
him  in  the  motley  society  and  contrasted  habits  of  life  and 
thought  which  environed  him.  The  curious  difference 
between  the  sea-side  lodgings  of  England,  where  people  go 
to  enjoy  privacy,  and  the  many-storied  barrack  of  Ameri- 
can shores,  where  people  go  to  enjoy  publicity,  naturally 
attracted  his  attention.  Nor  did  he  fail'  to  remark  the  dis- 
crepancies in  dress  and  speech  which  are  incident  to  per- 
sons brought  together  from  homes  thousands  of  miles 
apart,  albeit  of  the  same  nation.  He  observed  particularly 
the  great  number  of  visitors  from  the  Southern  States,  and 
expressed  to  his  companion  the  opinion  that  bringing  toge- 
ther the  different  sections,  year  after  year,  as  it  were  in 
informal  Congress,  should  prove  beneficial  as  making  the 
sojourners  more  conversant  with  each  other's  feelings  and 
tastes,  and  as  thus  tending  to  knit  more  closely  the  frater- 
nal relations  which,  in  the  common  interest,  should  be  fos- 
tered and  strengthened.  To  his  surprise,  Cuthbert  Boyn- 
ton dissented. 

"As  regards  the  South,"  said  he,  while  they  strolled 
through  the  long  corridors  of  the  Ocean  Rouse,  "  such 
might  formerly  have  been  the  case,  but  not  since  the  great 
increase  of  Abolitionism.  Our  best  people,  for  example, 
who  once  found  in  the  peculiarities  of  the  New  Englander 
only  subjects  of  good-natured  amusement,  now  encounter 
them  with  disgust  and  aversion.  They  have  learned  by  a 
gradual  and  natural  process  to  associate  the  idea  of  uncouth- 
ness  in  speech  and  manner  with  that  of  the  dishonesty 
which  seeks  to  rob  them  of  their  rights." 

"But  surely,"  said  Eliot,  "Abolitionists,  as  a  rule,  are 
not  uneducated  persons  1" 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  103 

"  Probably  not.  But  we  find  them  to  be,  generally 
speaking,  very  narrow  and  prejudiced  ones.  They  are  not, 
at  all  events,  people  who  pay  much  attention  to  the  graces 
of  life — the  petits  soins  of  social  intercourse.  Those  with 
whom  the  particular  prejudice  is  most  intensified  readily 
fall  into  a  vein  of  vituperation  and  abuse,  which  is  directed 
against  all  who  happen  to  disagree  with  them.  Educated 
Southerners  regard  them  as  vulgar,  therefore,  as  well  as 
illogical." 

"  How  illogical  ?  You  will  not,  assuredly,  maintain  that 
people  may  not  consider  Slavery  to  be  wrong  without 
being  illogical  ?" 

"  No,  truly — but  the  mode  of  putting  the  case  may  be, 
and  in  this  instance  is,  excessively  so.  Thus  the  Aboli- 
tionists stigmatize  contemporaneous  Slaveholders  precisely 
as  if  the  latter  had  personally  originated  and  introduced 
the  system.  They  attack  we,  for  example,  as  the  guilty 
party  in  bringing  about  a  state  of  affairs  which  existed 
before  I  was  born,  which  I  had  no  hand  in  promoting,  and 
which,  individually,  I  can  have  no  power  to  prevent  or  to 
change.  Such  a  position  is  neither  reasonable  nor  gentle- 
manly ;  and  it  is  this  double  conviction,  independent  of  a 
natural  objection  to  be  shorn  of  their  wealth  and  strength, 
which  so  constantly  embitters  Southerners  against  the  fana- 
tics of  the  North." 

"  But  still,  looking  at  the  matter  dispassionately,  there 
can  be  no  resource  save  agitation  for  a  party  which,  right- 
ly or  wrongly,  considers  a  great  evil  to  exist,  and  which 
has  no  share  whatever  in  the  Government ;  and,  I  am  told, 
your  party  has  had  practical  control  of  the  Government 
for  a  great  many  years — certainly  since  a  period  anterior  to 
the  rise  of  the  Anti-Slavery  movement." 

"  Ah !  now  you  come,  after  all,  to  the  gist  of  our  com- 
plaint. The  South  holds  that,  if  the  Abolitionists  were  in 
power  to-morrow,  they  would  have  no  right  whatever  to 
interfere  with  Slavery.  The  terms  of  the  Constitution  pre- 
clude such  a  right.  The  question  is  one  reserved  absolute- 
Jy.to  the  jurisdiction  of  the  individual  States  themselves. 


104  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

The  South  therefore  maintains  that  there  can  be  no  reason 
or  propriety  in  agitation  which  points  to  a  coui-se  of  action 
which  the  agitators,  if  in  office,  could  not  legally  adopt. 
It  perceives,  however,  that  if  so  elevated,  their  principles 
and  their  professions  would  compel  them  to  attempt  such 
a  course." 

"  In  which  event — " 

"In  which  event  it  sees  but  one  remedy — the  repu- 
diation, or  rather  the  dissolution  of  the  Federal  copartner- 
ship, and  the  establishment  of  a  separate  Southern  Gov- 
ernment. There  are  extremists  of  iDOth  sections  who  aim 
at  exactly  that  result,  both  of  whom  hope  to  become  more 
prominent  and  more  powerful  by  bringing  it  about.  The 
moderates  of  both  sections  desire,  on  the  other  hand,  an 
amicable  adjustment  of  differences  in  the  interest  of  a 
permanent  Union." 

"  But  how  can  such  an  adjustment  be  brought  about,  if 
you  insist,  as  one  of  its  terms,  upon  the  absolute  cessation  of 
the  Slavery  discussion  ?  This,  as  it  appears  to  me,  is  what 
the  South  would  primarily  and  chiefly  demand,  and  what 
the  North,  however  disposed,  would  find  it  quite  impos- 
sible to  assure." 

"By  a  general  and  genuine  determination,  on  both  sides 
if  you  will,  to  view  the  matter  in  a  larger  and  more  liberal 
spirit.  By  the  North  being  brought  to  perceive  and 
acknowledge  the  unfairness  of  insisting  on  a  subversive 
process  wherein  one  side  is  to  claim  all  the  merit  of  a  noble 
and  progressive  revolution,  and  the  other  to  suffer  all  its 
humiliation  and  its  sacrifice.  Wherein  the  first  loses 
nothing,  the  second  practically  everything,  because,  through 
the  accident,  by  no  merit  and  no  crime  of  their  own,  they 
happen  to  be  born  in  this  or  that  section.  If  Slavery  is  to 
be  abolished,  I  think  the  whole  country,  and  not  a  part  of 
it,  should  bear  the  burden  of  carrying  out  the  change. 
When  the  North  shows  a  spirit  of  willingness  to  submit 
itself  to  sacrifices,  the  world  will  be  in  a  better  position 
to  credit  its  sincerity.  The  South,  on  the  other  hand, 
should  discard  the  stupid  and  retrograde  dream  of  establish- 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  105 

ing  an  Empire  on  a  basis  of  Slavery — should  exhibit  a 
disposition  to  accede  to  the  inevitable  nature  of  things 
as  developed  by  the  progress  of  the  age.  If  the  two  sec- 
tions could  experience  these  changes  in  feeling  and  opinion, 
I  believe  a  gradual  ameliorative  plan  of  emancipation  could 
be  carried  into  effect,  to  be  compensated  by  the  resources 
of  the  entire  nation  in  due  course  of  time." 

"  And  would  the  South  accede  to  such  an  arrangement?" 
"  All  the  moderates  would,  and  they  constitute  the  great 
majority.  But  the  longer  an  agitation  continues  which 
tends  to  illegal,  forcible,  and  sudden  emancipation,  and 
which  ignores  a  legal,  compensated,  and  gradual  policy,  the 
more  difficult  will  it  be  to  carry  the  latter  into  effect. 
Hence  I  deprecate  such  agitation.  The  more  because, 
ultimately,  whatever  phases  the  dispute  may  pass  through 
— of  possible  secession,  coercion,  civil  war,  negro  insur- 
rection— it  is  precisely  the  legal,  compensated,  and  gradual 
policy  which  will  have  to  be  adopted  at  last." 

Eliot  thought  such  a  prospective  solution  would  be 
eminently  distasteful  to  most  of  Boynton's  northern  allies 
of  foreign  birth — such  as  McSwindle  and  his  tribe,  and  he 
said  as  much. 

"  Of  course,"  replied  the  Southerner,  laughing,  "  we  have 
been  compelled  to  use  such  tools  as  came  to  our  hands. 
Our  immigrant  friends  could  not  be  got  to  comprehend 
(or  to  care  a  straw  for  it  if  they  did),  the  idea  of  according 
us  abstract  justice  in  our  distant  isolation.  But  they  could 
understand  that  an  influx  of  blacks  on  the  northern  labor 
market  would  reduce  the  price  of  their  own  day's  work ; 
and  this  is  the  idea  which  has  been  constantly  and  steadily 
kept  before  their  eyes." 

"  Do  you  think  the  apprehension  ill-founded  ?" 
"It  is  quite  preposterous — but  it  hardly  becomes  me 
to  say  so.  The  negro  doesn't  thrive  in  the  North,  and 
could  not  possibly  compete  with  white  labor  in  any  of 
the  present  Free  States.  He  loves  the  climate  and  soil 
of  the  South,  and  to  remove  his  chains  would  be  to  furnish 
him  with  a  last  and  conclusive  motive  for  clinging  to  both. 


106  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

As  it  is,  more  free  blacks  stay  voluntarily  in  the  South  than 
come  volimtarily  to  the  North.  Setting  aside  the  immense 
unpeopled  territory  of  the  West,  which  must,  in  the  nature 
of  things,  keep  up  the  price  of  all  labor — black  or  white, 
foreign  or  native,  for  an  indefinite  time  to  come — the  popu- 
lar apprehension  is  a  fallacious  one.  I  should  think  an 
exodus  of  Irishmen  into  the  South  far  more  likely  in  the 
event  of  emancipation  than  one  of  negroes  into  the  North." 

"  But  why  deceive,  when  the  deception  may  ultimately 
produce  so  much  mischief?" 

"  The  necessities  of  our  situation,  my  dear  fellow.  We 
have  been  growing  weaker  than  the  North — in  a  relative 
sense — year  by  year,  and  have  been  forced  to  make  up  by 
strategy  what  we  lacked  in  strength.  The  vast  European 
immigration  happily  has  furnished  us  with  means — means 
we  have  been  ready  enough  to  use,  however  we  might  de- 
spise them.  We  have  at  least  the  apology  that  we  were 
struggling  for  self-preservation — a  justifiable  motive  enough. 
Our  foreign  instruments  were  actuated  by  the  more  ques- 
tionable one  of  a  despicable  fear — half  ignorance,  half  pre- 
judice— lest  their  own  selfish  interest  might  possibly,  at 
some  future  time  suffer  detriment,  unless  the}''  fought  on 
our  side.  They  cherish,  also,  a  certain  rancorous  hatred 
for  the  blacks,  whom  they  wish  to  see  oppressed,  for  no 
better  reason  than  this  jealousy,  unless  it  be  that  they 
claim  their  own  race  has  been  oppressed,  and  wish  as  few 
as  possible  to  be  exempted.  If  the  Irishman  really  believed^ 
what  we  often  claim,  that  the  Negro  is  happier  a  slave  than 
he  would  be  free,  the  Irishman  would  be  at  least  half  way 
on  the  road  to  being  an  abolitionist.  As  to  mischief  as 
consequent  on  these  political  intrigues  and  misconceptions, 
I  suppose  we  must  go  through  the  usual  vicissitudes  of 
nations.  So  long  as  questions  which  arise  are  susceptible 
of  peaceful  solution,  and,  in  short,  are  of  no  momentous 
consequence,  the  mischief  from  such  a  cause  will  be  com- 
paratively unimportant.  When,  by  and  by,  they  assume 
a  magnitude  which  affects  the  national  life  or  threatens  to 
destroy  its  hopes  of  future  greatness, — then^  in  my  judg- 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  107 

ment,  the  time  will  have  come  for  a  change,  temporary  or 
permanent,  and  then  Americans  will  rule  the  country  for 
themselves." 


CHAPTER   XII. 


THINGS  were  going  on  dully  enough  at  Dangerfield's 
Rest.  Stephen's  spirits  had  been  sadly  depressed  since 
his  discovery  touching  his  impaired  prospects.  He  loved 
the  dear  old  place,  every  stick  and  stone  of  it.  There  was 
no  room  or  cranny  in  the  venerable  mansion,  not  a  nook 
or  dingle  in  the  far  spreading  lands,  but  that  it  was  dear  to 
him  for  some  cherished  memory,  some  by -gone  association 
of  his  childhood.  He  had,  moreover,  a  full  share  of  the 
traditional  family  pride,  and  his  soul  revolted  at  the 
thought  of  the  property  passing  away  from  his  name. 
Not  that,  so  far  as  he  knew,  there  was  any  immediate  dan- 
ger of  such  a  casualty  :  but  he  dreaded  to  hear  some  fresh 
intelligence  which  should  involve  the  contingency  hereafter. 
He  had  lived  thirty  years  without  knowing,  without  even 
suspecting,  what  had  just  been  imparted  to  him.  How 
could  he  tell  that  his  father,  who  had  shown  so  much  reti- 
cence, did  not  carry  about  in  his  breast  some  other  com- 
promising secret  which  should  come  forth  to  the  light  when 
least  expected,  to  complete  his  ruin  ? 

Stephen  cared  little  for  money.  He  had  never  known 
the  want  of  it,  and  less  generous  natures  than  his  own 
become  indifferent  to  golden  charms  under  similar  circum- 
stances. But,  for  the  same  reason,  he  was  utterly  unskill- 
ed in  its  accumulation.  Suppose  the  worse  that  he  dreaded 
came  to  pass,  how  was  he  to  provide  for  the  future, — to  say 
nothing  of  the  wish  which  would  always  be  nearest  his 
heart — that  of  relieving  his  birth-place  and  home  of  the 
weighty  incubus  which  pressed  upon  it  ? 

Again  :  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Stephen's  heart  was 


108  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

seriously  entangled  by  the  attractions  of  one  of  the  oppo- 
site sex.  He  had  had  flirtations  innumerable.  Few  men 
reach  liis  age  without  them,  especially  when  to  the  ordi- 
nary inclinations  of  youth  are  added  an  unusual  share  of 
manly  beauty  and  the  accepted  certainty  of  a  fine  estate 
But  these  affairs  were  invariably  trifling  and  evanescent 
pastimes  rather  than  passions:  for  although  his  imagina 
tion  was  perhaps  relatively  stronger  than  his  intellect,  he 
had  a  fastidious  and  exacting  taste,  and  would  ever  de- 
tect in  his  latest  idol  some  blemish  or  defect  which  speedily 
disenchanted  him.  Not  that  his  self-esteem  was  overween- 
ing ;  the  belief  was  common  and  quite  sincere  in  his  mind 
that  any  woman  whom  he  could  love  well  enough  to  marry, 
he  was  not  good  enough  to  have.  Now  it  happened  that, 
while  in  the  society  of  Grace  Vernon,  this  old  theory  of  his 
had  quite  passed  out  of  his  thoughts, — and  it  only  return- 
ed when  the  facts  he  had  learned  brought  the  conviction, 
that,  in  a  worldly  sense,  and  as  related  to  her,  it  was  uncom- 
fortably true.  The  result  was,  that  he  felt  himself  becom- 
ing more  and  more  attached  to  the  young  lady  every  day. 
He  had  promised  to  come  to  Uplands  very  soon  after 
his  arrival.  He  knew  that  his  father  had  visited  there 
years  ago,  and,  as  he  supposed,  for  the  same  reason  which 
had  led  him  to  omit  going  into  society  elsewhere,  those 
visits  had  long  since  ceased.  It  was  clear  that  Oliver  Ver- 
non had  no  unfriendly  feelings  toward  Martin  Dangerfield, 
nor  had  Stephen  ever  heard  his  father  express  any  such 
toward  the  former.  Hence  there  was  no  family  reason 
why  acquaintance  should  not  be  renewed,  and  the  young 
man,  with  his  newly  awakened  sentiments,  had  looked  for- 
ward to  such  a  renewal  with  most  pleasurable  expectation. 
Now,  however,  a  qualification  interposed  productive  of 
some  uneasiness.  It  is  but  right  to  say  that  Stephen  had 
some  little — some  very  slight  grounds — to  hope  that  his 
regard  for  Grace  might  be  reciprocated.  Would  it  be  honor- 
able, then,  for  him  to  subject  her  to  the  natural  growth 
and  increase  of  such  feelings  which  his  presence  might  pro- 
duce ?     To  disguise  his  own  admiration,  Stephen  began  to 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  109 

feel,  would  be  quite  impossible.  The  only  solution  of  the 
difficulty  would  obviously  be  that  of  absenting  himself 
altogether. 

To  such  a  course  did  he  mentally  commit  himself,  not 
without  many  misgivings,  and  by  dint  of  grave  efforts  at 
self-control.  He  was  clearly  no  match  now  for  the  daugh- 
ter and  sole  heiress  of  the  wealthy  Oliver  Vernon  ;  and 
whatever  the  magnanimity  of  the  father  or  the  disinterest- 
ed love  of  the  child  might  prompt  them  to  waive  in  his 
favor,  it  was  not  the  part  of  a  Dangerfield  to  take  advan- 
tage of  either.  To  the  best  of  his  present  knowledge,  he 
would  have  no  other  resource  than  the  small  margin  which 
might  exist  between  the  heavy  mortgage  which  encum- 
bered it  and  the  whole  value  of  the  paternal  estate ;  and  he 
was  in  doubt  as  to  how  far  even  that  pittance  might  be 
forestalled. 

Stephen  began  to  think  of  his  father  with  a  bitterness 
which  he  never  would  have  believed  any  mere  worldly  con- 
sideration could  have .  engendered.  He  condemned  the 
wretched  weakness  of  the  old  man's  youth  with  a  severity 
proportioned  to  the  misery  he  saw  it  bringing,  after  so 
many  years,  upon  himself.  He  felt  as  we  all  do  when  we 
suffer  from  the  follies  of  those  who  have  gone  before  us, 
and  when  we  have  not  ourselves  experienced  from  our  own 
darling  vices  the  extremity  of  temptation  before  which 
they  succumbed.  He  shrank  now  from  asking  any  further 
explanations  as  earnestly  as  he  had  sought  them  before. 
The  absolute  silence  which  his  father  preserved,  and  the 
expression  of  weary  pain  which  was  almost  constantly 
written  upon  his  brow,  Stephen  accepted  .as  a  conclusive 
corroboration  of  the  truth  of  Kirkwood's  statement;  and 
he  supposed  he  should  hear  the  unhappy  details  quite  soon 
enough  without  solicitation,  when  Martin  Dangerfield  was 
ready  to  recite  them. 

In  the  meantime,  Kirkwood  enjoyed  himself  hugely. 
He  lounged  about  the  premises,  smoking  many  cigars  and 
drinking  much  wine,  with  a  face  as  sunny  and  a  heart  as 
light  as  the  advantage  of  his  position  and  the  excellence  of 


110  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

bis  digestion  would  allow.  For  the  present,  Stephen,  the 
only  antagonist  whom  he  feared,  was  powerless  to  assail  or 
even  to  annoy  him.  Circumstances  had  enabled  him  to 
force  his  father  into  a  position  from  whence  he  could  not 
retreat,  and  one  in  which  he  could  prey  upon  his  substance 
in  detail,  as  his  needs  or  caprices  might  suggest.  Kirk- 
wood,  therefore,  abandoned  himself  with  great  gusto  to  the 
animal  enjoyments  which  were  to  him  so  delightful.  He 
rose  late,  breakfasted  luxuriously,  read  the  morning  papers, 
strolled  about  the  garden  walks,  lolled  at  full  length  on 
the  grass,  read  novels,  practised  pistol-shooting — at  which 
he  was  marvellously  skilful — dined  heavily,  and  having 
stultified  himself  with  generous  libations  of  old  brandy, 
betook  himself  again  to  refreshing  slumbers.  He  had 
essayed  at  first  to  condole  with  Stephen  on  the  condition  of 
things ;  hinted  at  offering  him  advice,  and  even  more  tangi- 
ble aid,  with  a  view  to  the  speedy  clearing  of  the  property, 
and  so  on  ;  but  as  these  amicable  advances  had  been 
received  by  the  young  man  with  sullen,  if  not  contemp- 
tuous silence,  they  soon  ceased.  Kirkwood  merely  shrug- 
ged his  shoulders,  and  amused  himself  in  his  own  way. 
Long  acquaintance  with  the  world,  he  said,  had  quite  ac- 
customed him  to  being  misunderstood;  his  dear  young 
friend  Stephen  would  appreciate  in  time  that  he  was,  in 
reality,  the  warm  and  attached  friend  of  both  his  father 
and  himself.  Many  would  have  been  far  more  exacting 
than  he  had  been  in  regard  to  the  terms  of  the  mortgage 
and  the  conditions  of  the  payment.  Of  course  it  was  not 
to  be  expected  that,  with  his  limited  experience  and  know- 
ledge of  business  affairs,  Stephen  would  see  these  things  in 
their  true  light  in  a  moment.  By  and  by  he  would  pro- 
bably be  much  more  reasonable,  and  certainly  much  more 
grateful.  Kirkwood  favored  Martin  Dangerfield  with  not 
a  little  of  this  sort  of  talk,  especially  after  dinner.  He 
seemed  to  enjoy  it  very  much  indeed,  and  was  not  in  the 
least  restrained  or  deterred  by  the  fact  that  the  old  man 
listened  uniformly  with  a  vague  look  of  mingled  disgust 
and  terror. 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  Ill 

There  was  only  one  period  of  the  day  when  our  cheer- 
ful visitant  exhibited  the  slightest  break  in  the  equable  and 
roseate  tenor  of  his  daily  life — that  when  the  messenger 
brought  letters  from  the  neighboring  village  post-oflfice,  and 
which  was  during  the  hour  before  dinner.  There  was  then 
just  a  trace  of  anxiety  and  expectancy,  lasting  until  he 
was  either  aware  there  were  no  letters  for  him,  or  of  tlie 
contents  of  those  which  he  received  ;  whereupon  he  re- 
sumed his  usual  condition  of  complacent  satisfaction.  It 
was  evident  that  he  expected  particular  advices — advices 
which  might  have  some  bearing  upon  his  future  course — 
perhaps  on  the  duration  of  his  stay  at  Dangerfield's  Rest. 
When  Stephen  perceived  this,  he  began  to  watch  his  enemy 
more  narrowly  than  before.  He  found  his  old  suspicions 
coming  back  to  him — vague,  floating  suspicions,  that  Kirk- 
wood  meant  his  father  some  injury.  Then  he  began  to 
think  of  the  circumstances  under  which  the  liabilities  had 
been  incurred  which  the  Rest  had  been  mortgaged  to  pay. 
Perhaps  this  mysterious  creditor — this  cunning  intriguer 
in  whom  the  sinister  and  the  mirthful  seemed  so  strangely 
to  be  blended — might  possibly  have  contrived  a  scheme  to 
profit  by  his  father's  love  of  play — might  have  employed 
subordinates,  under  favorable  circumstances,  to  cheat  him 
out  of  the  large  sums  whose  payment  should  be  secured 
by  the  mortgage  of  his  property.  But  how  to  prove — 
nay,  how  even  to  investigate  transactions  of  such  a  nature, 
and  which  had  occurred  fifteen  years  ago  ?  'Twould  be 
difficult,  if  not  impossible.  Stephen  felt  the  need  of  an 
adviser — somebody  of  years,  of  character,  and  of  wisdom, 
to  prompt  and  counsel  him.  The  more  he  thought  of  the 
subject  the  better  satisfied  was  he  of  the  propriety  of  seek- 
ing such  an  assistant ;  and  then,  very  naturally,  he  thought 
of  Oliver  Yernon. 

How  far  a  certain  subtle  casuistry  had  led  him  to  the 
conviction  that  there  was  really  no  one  so  eligible  to  afford 
the  aid  he  sought  as  the  father  of  Grace  Yernon — how  far 
that  consideration  was  supported  by  the  knowledge  that  in 
seeking  the  father  he  must,  almost  surely,  come  in  contact 


112  DANGERFIELD'S  rest  ;   OR 

with  the  daughter — we  need  not  pause  to  inquire.  The 
human  heart  and  brain,  alike  complex,  seldom  decide  on 
action  from  unmixed  motives,  and  it  may  be  readily  sup- 
posed that  Stephen's  presented  no  exception.  A  fortnight 
had  passed  away  and  he  was  becoming  weary  of  inaction — 
weary  of  staying  away  from  Grace.  He  could  make  an 
excuse  to  himself  which  should  cover,  without  sullying, 
the  honorable  course  he  had  decided  upon,  and  which  has 
been  described.  A  fortnight  is  a  long  time  passed  in 
country  shades  without  society,  or  worse,  with  that  which 
is  distasteful. 

It  was  on  the  fifteenth  morning,  and  soon  after  break- 
fast, that  Mr.  Kirkwood  sat  in  the  arbor  which  had  become 
endeared  to  him  as  the  scene  where  he  had,  as  he  expressed 
it,  "  clapped  a  stopper"  on  Stephen  Dangerfield.  The 
worthy  gentleman  was  buried  in  romance.  He  vvas  enjoy- 
ing in  the  Trois  Mousquetaires  the  somewhat  singular  and 
exceptional  adventures  of  MM.  Aihos,  Porthos,  and  Aramis 
— and  found  them  very  much  to  his  taste.  He  was  en- 
hancing the  pleasurable  excitement  of  the  narrative,  by  the 
ejection  of  small  blue  spirals  derived  from  the  combustion 
of  a  fragrant  Havana.  Suddenly  he  heard  the  pawing  of 
a  horse  on  the  gravel  hard  by,  and,  looking  up  he  saw — 
saddled  and  bridled — Stephen's  black  mare  Vixen.  A 
moment  after,  her  owner  appeared,  equipped  for  the 
saddle,  and  presenting  in  his  attire  a  notable  change  from 
the  carelessness  of  the  past  few  days.  Mr.  Kirkwood 
sighed.  He  perceived  with  quick  instinct  that  his  respite 
of  calm  and  dignified  enjoyment  must  give  place  to  action 
— perhaps  to  the  combat.  Young  Dangerfield  had  scarcely 
been  out  even  for  a  walk  all  this  time.  He  had  slouched 
back  and  forth,  staring  up  and  down  the  river,  rambling 
about  the  house,  to  and  from  the  stables,  but  never  out 
of  sight  or  earshot  of  the  mansion.  Kirkwood  was  too 
experienced  a  tactician  not  to  know  that  a  sudden  change 
in  this  routine  boded  something  new  in  the  way  of  demon- 
stration ; — a  cavalry  reconnoissance  usually  precedes  an 
attack  in  force ; — so  he  commenced  to  lay  his  plan  of  cani- 


BEFORE  THE  STORM,  113 

paign  almost  before  Stephen  was  out  of  sight,  and  was 
hard  at  work  on  it  the  while  Black  Vixen  swept  on  at 
a  swinging  gallop  toward  the  point  which  made  her 
master's  heart  beat  to  think  of  far  more  than  did  the 
unwonted  exercise — for  she  went  toward  Uplands. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


SHE  was  standing  on  the  piazza  making  a  very  charming 
picture  with  a  frame  of  clustering  honeysuckles  and 
Madeira  vines.  A  dark  green  riding-habit,  exquisitely 
cut,  displayed  to  bewitching  advantage  her  moulded  figure. 
An  English  hat,  with  slopings  of  mysterious  feathers 
of  equally  sombre  hue,  which  was  unbroken  in  the  whole 
costume,  save  by  a  bit  of  cherry  riband  at  the  throat,  and 
by  the  white  of  the  tiny  gauntlets.  The  sun  was  glinting 
through  the  nut-brown  hair  and  lending  it  a  ruddy  tint,  but 
it  could  lend  neither  light  nor  vivacity  to  the  smile  which 
played  over  the  sweet  face,  and  which,  in  parting  the  red 
lips,  showed  glimpses  of  pearls  behind.  One  little  hand 
had  caught  up  the  clinging  amplitude  of  skirt,  the  other 
grasped  a  slender  riding- whip.     This  was  Grrace  Yernon. 

A  few  steps  in  front  and  held  by  a  groom,  was  a  snow- 
white  steed,  a  trifle  over  fourteen  hands,  spotless  and 
unexceptionable  in  condition  and  caparison.  The  arching 
neck  was  curved  far  over,  and  the  large  eyes  appeared  to 
be  curiously  inspecting  the  creature's  fore-feet.  This  was 
Lily. 

Such  was  the  group  which  Stephen  Dangerfield  saw,  the 
first  time  he  met  its  principal  figure  after  they  came  back 
from  sea.  He  had  turned  in  from  the  high  road  at  the 
little  stone-lodge,  decorously  checking  as  he  did  so  the 
swift  gallop  wherewith  Black  Vixen  had  favored  "him 
all  the  way  from  the  Rest,  and  receiving  intimation  as 
to  "  the  family"  being  at  home  from  the  gate-keeper.     He 


114  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

came  along  the  winding  road  gently  enough,  and  in  truth 
with  a  less  steady  heart  than  was  usual  for  stout  Stephen  to 
carry  in  his  bosom.  Was  it  that  mysterious  prescience, 
which  is  so  unreasonable,  so  inexplicable,  so  impossible, 
and  yet  so  true,  which  we  have  all  felt,  and  yet  scarcely 
believe,  except  the  feeling  is  actually  upon  us — that  innate 
consciousness  which  philosophy  cannot  explain,  nor  scep- 
ticism refute,  which  warns  or  gladdens  us  with  unerring 
certainty  of  the  approach  of  those  we  hate  or  love  ? 
Perhaps.  All  we  can  say  is  that  before  Stephen  skirted 
the  little  arc  in  the  road  which  opened  the  picture  to  his 
gaze,  his  heart  was  almost  in  his  mouth,  and  that  when  he 
had  skirted  it — to  carry  out  the  exceptionable  figure — it 
was  quite  so.  He  was  abreast  of  the  group  and  off  his 
horse  in  an  instant,  crushing  down  the  compunction  that 
told  him  he  should  pause  and  admire,  nor  break  the  lovely 
tableau  until  his  presence  was  discovered.  For — as  he 
turned  the  curve  in  question,  the  thought  struck  him  that 
Grace  was  waiting  to  be  joined  by  some  one,  and  might  be, 
speedily,  and,  the  moment  after,  she  turned  her  head. 

A  little  cry — one  of  those  indescribable  sounds  girls 
make  when  they  are  surprised  and  pleased  and  : — 

"  Mr.  Dangerfield  1" 

"  Miss  Vernon  !" 

His  strong  hand  caught  one  of  the  tiny  white  gauntlets, 
and  a  rapid  incoherent  word  or  too  from  each,  nearly  simul- 
taneously, from  which  emerged,  clearly  and  simply  enough, 
from  the  young  lady : — 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you  !" 

"  Are  you,  indeed  ?" 

Here  their  eyes  met  again,  and  this  time  up  rushed  the 
crimson  to  Grace's  brow  as  both  her  eye  and  ear  taught 
her  the  literal  signification  Stephen  was  applying  to  the 
common-place  expression.  She  must  speak  again  to  break 
that  charm,  so  she  did,  hastily,  and,  of  course,  unluck- 
ily :*- 

"  It  seems  an  age  since  I  saw  you  I" 

"  Oh !  Miss  Yernon — Miss  Gra — " 


BEFOEE  THE  STORM.  115 

Stephen  paused,  and  well  lie  did  so,  for  his  sense  of  pro- 
priety came  to  his  aid.  Preposterous  !  He  was  absolutely 
on  the  very  brink  of  a  declaration  in  the  first  twenty  words 
of  his  meeting,  in  an  ordinary  visit  of  courtesy,  with  one 
he  had  known  barely  a  week,  and  a  month  before  had  never 
seen.  Stephen  thought  himself  demented,  for  questions 
of  time  and  moulds  of  conventionality  always  strike  men 
most  forcibly.  Grace,  with  her  woman's  nature,  was  more 
wise.  She  knew  and  knew  well  that  love  was  not  a  matter 
of  days,  nor  months,  nor  years.  She  knew  precisely  what 
Stephen  felt,  what  he  was  floundering  and  stumbling 
about ;  but  she  was  mischievous  and  wouldn't  relieve  him. 
We  say  she  knew — meaning  in  the  same  sense  wherewith 
women  always  know  by  force  of  interior  perception.  The 
man  must  reason  first  and  feel  afterwards  :  the  woman 
must  feel  first  and  reason  afterwards — perhaps ;  at  any  rate, 
she  gets  first  at  the  truth,  which  is  the  main  point  to  be 
enforced. 

And  who  shall  tell  us  what  this  love  is,  which,  sown  we 
know  not  how,  grows  up  and  puts  forth  leaves  and  blos- 
soms and  fruit  in  due  season — this  love  which  is  not  based 
on  previous  knowledge  of  character,  tastes,  sympathies — 
which  comes  unsought  and  unbidden,  but  will  not  leave 
except  at  its  own  good  pleasure.  People  call  it  love  at  first 
sight,  but  this  cannot  be.  Is  it  not  rather  the  passion 
elicited  by  an  embodiment  of  what  we  have  loved  and 
cherished  long  before, — long  before  we  can  remember  per- 
haps— ages  before,  possibly, — far  back  through  the  long 
stages  of  this  marvellous  progression  and  development, 
which,  if  it_^  is  to  outlast  the  mortal  death,  may  have  com- 
menced before  the  mortal  birth  ? 

Not  a  gross  earthly  passion  merely.  Not  a  happy  acci- 
dental combination  of  this  type  of  head,  eyes,  complexion, 
figure,  each  of  which  we  remember  to  have  admired  before ; 
but  the  subtle,  mysterious,  spiritual  affinity  whose  analysis 
exceeds  in  its  difficulty  those  of  electricity  and  magnetism 
as  much  as  that  of  those  marvellous  forces  themselves  tran- 
scends the  analyses  of  all  lower  physical  phenomena. 


116  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

Stephen  and  Grace  walked  mechanically  to  the  end  of 
the  piazza.  Their  eyes  swept  for  a  moment  over  the  far 
stretching  landscape,  ran  for  an  instant  over  the  rippling 
currents  of  the  wide  and  glorious  river,  then  turned  and 
met  again.  Neither  spoke  a  word  :  and  it  might  have 
been  two  minutes  before  Elinor  Grazebook  and  little  Ally 
and  Oliver  Vernon  came  forth  from  the  house,  and  ad- 
vanced to  greet  the  stranger  :  yet  it  might  have  been 
counted  as  years  for  them,  for  they  had  entered,  half  uncon- 
sciously, the  portals  of  a  new  life,  to  which  the  past  was 
as  nothing,  and  the  future,  all. 

Oliver  Vernon  gave  his  guest  a  hearty  and  cordial  wel- 
come, Elinor  a  gracious  and  friendly  one,  and  little  Ally 
insisted  upon  being  lifted  in  his  stalwart  arms  and  kissed 
again  and  again.  The  child  had  not  many  memories,  and 
deeply  iixed  among  them  was  that  of  the  moment  when  she 
had  been  lifted  in  the  same  way  from  the  deck  of  the  wreck. 

"  You  have  rather  neglected  us,"  said  Vernon,  with  his 
kindly  smile ;  "  we  expected  to  see  you  before,  as  you  were 
so  near." 

"Indeed,  I  appreciate  my  loss,"  replied  Stephen,  sin- 
cerely; "my  father's  affairs  have  claimed  much  of  my 
attention,  and  I  thought  you  might  gladly  be  free  of  intru- 
sion for  a  while,  after  so  long  an  absence." 

"  So  near  and  old  a  neighbor  could  not  be  an  intruder 
even  if  there  were  reasons  for  others  being  such.  This 
little  lady  has  particularly  felt  your  long  absence.  She 
thinks  she  has  a  right  of  property  in  you  since  you  were 
instrumental  in  her  deliverance." 

"  Dear  child,"  quoth  Stephen,  very  glad  as  most  men 
are  to  caress  little  girls  in  the  presence  of  older  ones  they 
have  the  decorously  restrained  inclination  to  subject  to  the 
same  attentions. 

"Have  you  seen  my  other  papa?"  queried  Ally,  pro- 
pounding to  Stephen  a  question  she  was  in  the  habit 
of  putting  to  each  fresh  person  she  met — and  of  being 
uniformly  surprised,  if  not  displeased,  at  being  answered  in 
the  negative. 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  117 

"  No,  my  dear.     Are  you  not  content  with  this  one  ?" 

Stephen  told  a  fib  here,  but  neither  he  nor  any  one  else 
was  conscious  of  the  fact  at  the  time. 

"  Oh,  yes.  I'm  to  stay  with  him  always ;  unless,"  she 
added,  reflectively,  "  unless  you  and  Aunt  Gracy  would 
like  to  take  me  with  you !" 

Grace  blushed  scarlet  at  this  somewhat  extraordinary 
and  premature  sally.  There  had  been  talk  of  Stephen 
Dangerfield  in  the  child's  presence  between  herself  and 
Elinor ;  and  some  little  rallying  on  the  part  of  the  latter, 
who  saw  before  either  of  the  parties  most  interested,  what 
things  were  drifting  to  when  on  board  the  Assyria.  She 
essayed  to  atone  for  her  sin  by  coming  to  the  rescue  with 
friendly  alacrity. 

"  We  were  going  toward  Fort  Lee.  Perhaps  Mr.  Dan- 
gerfield will  make  up  the  appropriate  number  of  our  escort, 
as  I  see  he  cam-e  in  the  saddle." 

Mr.  Dangerfield  would  be  delighted.  He  usually  rode  a 
great  deal,  although  his  habit  had  been  somewhat  inter- 
rupted of  late.  With  the  permission  of  the  ladies  and  that 
of  Mr.  Yernon,  he  would  gladly  make  one  of  the  party. 
The  arrangement  was  effected  amid  great  demonstrations 
of  satisfaction  on  the  part  of  Ally  and  the  warm  approval 
of  Mr.  Vernon,  who  was  admiring  Black  Vixen,  and  who 
missed  the  episodical  agitation  in  progress  while  contrasting 
that  spirited  animal  with  the  gentle  Lily.  Then  David  Green- 
wood appeared  with  Dapple  and  the  Shetland  pony,  and  a 
stout  bay  for  his  master,  and  a  rather  better-blooded  chestnut 
for  the  groom,  and  the  cheerful  party  prepared  for  a  start. 

Grace  became  flushed  again  as  Stephen  Dangerfield  took 
her  dainty  foot  in  his  hand,  and  for  the  first  time  put 
her  in  the  saddle;  and  this  time  Vernon  noticed  it,  and 
remarked  on  her  brilliant  color,  which,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  made  things  worse.  She  murmured  something 
about  the  heat,  and  managed  to  get  up  a  little  contest 
with,  and  caprioling  on  the  part  of,  Lily,  who  was  much 
astonished  in  her  innocence  by  these  aggressive  measures 
from  her  usually  gentle  mistress.    All  were  safely  mounted, 


118  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

and  the  cavalcade  set  out  in  high  good-humor,  Stephen 
carefully  placing  himself  by  the  side  of  Elinor,  a  maneuvre 
partly  intended  in  courteous  deference  to  her  seniority,  partly 
with  the  artful  idea  of  throwing  dust  in  the  general  eye  apro- 
pos of  his  feelings  toward  Grace.  But  parties  though  they  set 
out  abreast,  and  with  conjunctions  least  desired,  inevitably 
shape  themselves  into  harmonious  couplets  as  they  pro- 
gress, and  this  instance  proved  no  exception.  The  first 
half-hour  found  Grace  and  Stephen  together  in  the  advance 
at  a  distance  somewhat  greater  from  the  others  of  the  party 
than  was  that  of  the  groom  again  in  the  rear. 

And  they  talked  of  the  lovely  scenery  which  surrounded 
them  on  every  side,  and  which  both  had  been  born  and 
bred  among ;  and  of  books  and  pictures  and  the  Opera ; 
and  of  Europe,  and  their  respective  travels  and  adven- 
tures ;  and  of  horses  and  dogs,  and  rural  sports  and  diver- 
sions ;  and  Stephen  told  Grace  of  how  he  first  bought 
Black  Yixen,  and  of  her  wonderful  exploits  and  escapades 
before  and  since ;  and  Grace  told  Stephen  the  pitiful  story 
of  her  beautiful  Skye  terrier,  imported  with  so  much  trou- 
ble, and  so  greatly  admired,  to  be  poisoned  the  winter 
before  last  in  town  by  a  wretch,  who  threw  out  strychnine 
on  meat,  to  revenge  himself  upon  cats  who  had  molested 
his  pet  pigeons.  But  neither  said  anything  of  what  each 
was  becoming  more  and  more  conscious,  and  of  which  both 
were  all  the  time  thinking  far  more  than  of  anything  else. 
And,  for  that  matter,  what  need  was  there  of  words  ? 
Yolumes  could  not  have  contained  more  than  had  been 
crowded  into  that  silent  tete-a-tete  of  scarcely  two  minutes 
which  had  occurred  on  the  piazza.  And  both  were 
supremely  happy ;  happier  than  they  had  ever  been  before. 

Dream  on,  O  young,  healthful,  and  happy  beings !  Enjoy 
to  the  full,  while  you  may,  the  halcyon  visions  of  the  future, 
over  which  the  dear  presence  of  the  other  sheds  for  each 
the  rainbow  glories  of  promised  Hope !  And  be  the  sad 
day  far  distant  when  you  awake  from  that  dream  to  know 
— as,  alas !  sooner  or  later  all  must  know — that  before  the 
Eainbow  there  must  come  the  Storm. 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  119 

It  is  remarkable  that  not  until  the  present  red-letter  day 
•was  far  advanced — not,  indeed,  until  he  reached  his  home, 
and  was  recalled  from  the  clouds  by  his  first  sight  of  the 
dark  and  inquiring  face  of  Kirkwood — did  Stephen 
remember  the  subject  that  had  furnished  the  excuse  for 
his  cup  of  felicity.  He  had  altogether  forgotten,  while 
with  Grace,  the  heavy  mortgage  which  existed  on  Danger- 
field's  Best. 


CHAPTER  XI , . 


SOFTLY  and  serenely  glided  the  days  for  some  time  after 
Stephen's  first  visit  to  Uplands.  Only  for  convention- 
alities' sake,  and  with  great  struggling,  did  he  omit  riding 
over  the  next  morning.  On  the  second  day  he  made  no 
bones  of  the  matter,  but  gallopped  over  directly  after 
breakfast ;  and,  as  before,  a  long  ride  engrossed  the  greater 
portion  of  the  day.  Then  Vernon,  of  course,  asked  him 
to  dine  on  the  day  succeeding — Stephen  having  art  enough 
to  plead  an  engagement  when  the  time  was  exhausted 
which  could  be  spent  with  Grace,  so  as  to  husband  his 
invitation  to  cover  future  opportunities.  Then  there  were 
drives  and  walks,  and  divers  reasons  connected  with  music 
and  chess-play,  which,  in  turn,  supplied  ostensible  cause  for 
Mr.  Dangerfield  passing  a  great  portion  of  his  time  at 
Uplands.  He  had  never  yet  hinted,  however,  to  Oliver 
Yernon  aught  of  the  subject  whereupon  he  had  proposed 
to  solicit  his  advice.  This  was  weak  enough,  no  doubt, 
but  we  must  narrate  things  as  they  really  were,  dealing  as 
we  do  with  living,  erring,  mortal  beings,  and  not  with 
monsters,  perfect  or  other.  When  in  the  immaturity  of 
judgment  we  harshly  condemn,  we  sharpen  our  own  pun- 
ishment for  the  day  that  the  great  rush  of  temptation  comes 
over  ourselves.  We  get  to  learn  for  the  most  part  that  he 
-is  often  strongest  who  most  gently  entreateth.     Stephen 


120  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

knew  perfectly  well  that  he  ought  not  to  permit  affairs  to 
take  their  present  direction  without  a  candid  exposition  of 
his  prospects  to  both  Vernon  and  Grace ;  but  he  was  in 
doubt  as  to  the  effect  of  such  a  step.  To  be  sure,  the  old 
man  was  most  generous  and  unworldly ;  yet  people  who 
enjoy  that  character  very  often  exhibit  remarkable  appre- 
ciation of  the  main  chance,  and  obstinate  tenacity  in  cling- 
ing thereto  when  brought  to  face  important  secular  inte- 
rests. Stephen  Dangerfield,  the  heir  to  a  very  fine  pro- 
perty, and  Stephen  Dangerfield,  an  idle  yet  needy  man, 
were  two  very  different  persons.  If  the  sagacious  parent 
made  no  objection  to  what  was  progressing  between  his 
daughter  and  the  first-named  gentleman,  it  by  no  means 
followed  that  he  would  be  equally  contented  when  he  knew 
what  was  going  on  with  the  second.  Clearly,  the  latter 
had  no  right  to  keep  him  in  ignorance ;  yet  he  hesitated. 
Intoxicated  with  his  new-found  happiness,  Stephen  was 
hardly  responsible  for  his  sin.  And  we  must  remember 
tha-t  a  strict  adherence  to  duty  would,  as  he  feared,  nip 
that  happiness  in  the  bud. 

Kirkwood  observed  him  with  a  mingling  of  amusement 
and  vigilance.  With  a  minuteness  of  research  quite  cus- 
tomary with  this  man  in  treating  any  subject  of  importance 
to  his  dear  self,  he  had  carefully  scanned  and  noted  the 
Passenger  List  of  the  Assyria.  He  recognised  the  names 
of  Vernon  and  his  party,  and  drew  his  own  conclusions  as 
to  th-e  probability  of  an  acquaintance  having  sprung  up. 
between  them  and  Stephen.  We  may  remark,  in  passing, 
that  his  minuteness  was  not  quite  exhaustive  in  this  in- 
stance, as  there  was  a  certain  matter  under  the  heading  of 
"Shipping  Intelligence,"  which  he  would  have  found  much 
more  interesting  than  the  Passenger  List.  He  was,  however, 
on  the  right  track  in  his  inference  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
fascination  which  drew  Stephen  so  often  in  the  direction  of 
Uplands.  The  question  in  his  mind  was  first  to  make  sure 
that  the  latter  was  bent  on  serious  relations  with  one  of  the 
two  fair  girls  whom  he  knew  to  he,  there,  and  then  to 
determine  how  far  such  an  arrangement  might  be  favorable 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  121 

or  otherwise  to  his  own  projects.    In  pursuance  of  these 
ideas  he  instituted  a  series  of  elaborate  congratulations  on 
Stephen's  improved  spirits,  and  the  notable  advantages  to ' 
be  enjoyed  in  the  proximity  of  congenial  society,  etc.,  etc. 

The  young  man  received  these  advances  with  hauteur 
and  reserve.  Mr.  Kirkwood  might  have  a  mortgage  on 
his  father's  lands,  but  he  certainly  had  none  upon  his  own 
confidence.  The  effrontery  of  the  man  was  such  as  to 
make  him  capable  of  anything ;  he  had  already  suggested 
the  propriety  of  the  Dangerfields'  introducing  him  to  some 
of  the  better  people  of  the  neighborhood ; — his  next  step 
would,  no  doubt,  be  that  of  making  a  request  to  be  pre- 
sented at  Uplands — a  request  with  which  Stephen  deter- 
mined in  advance  not  to  comply.  His  father  had  the 
plausible  defence  against  similar  assaults  that  he  no  longer 
under  any  circumstances  went  into  society.  Stephen  could 
only  employ  the  less  propitiatory  resource  of  direct  refusal. 
He  therefore  endeavored  to  lessen  the  chances  of  an  attack 
on  the  subject  by  treating  Kirkwood  with  studied  distance 
and  ceremony. 

Stephen  erred  so  far  as  his  immediate  apprehension  was 
concerned.  Little  regard  as  James  Kirkwood  paid  to 
delicacy  when  it  stood  in  the  path  which  led  to  his  desires, 
he  was  willing  enough  to  remember  its  behests  when 
nothing  was  to  be  lost  thereby.  He  had  no  wish  to  revive 
disagreeable  recollections,  and  this  would  be  the  result 
of  contact  with  at  least  two  persons  at  Uplands ; — of  the 
presence  of  a  third,  about  whom  there  clung  a  gentler 
association, — he  was,  as  the  reader  has  surmised,  quite 
ignorant. 

Meanwhile  old  Martin  Dangerfield  tottered  wearily  about, 
becoming  more  bowed,  more  silent,  and  more  sad.  He  was 
affectionate  to  his  son,  but  it  was  evident  he  avoided  being 
alone  with  him.  He  was  civil  to  Kirkwood  at  ordinary 
times,  but  occasionally  would  oppose  him  querulously,  and 
seemed  to  be  approaching  that  point  of  emancipation 
where  people  throw  off  all  restraint  and  prepare  themselves 
desperately   to  take  all   consequences.     Then    Kirkwood 

6 


122  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

would  speak  to  him  softly  and  soothingly  for  a  while, 
ending  always  with  words  of  smothered  warning,  and 
then  the  stifled  whisper  and  dark  menacing  eye  re-enforced 
the  subjection  which  loud  words  and  blatant  threats  were 
used  to  effect  before.  He  was  merely  substituting  the 
tactics  of  the  serpent  for  those  of  the  lion  ;  the  latter  were 
not  exactly  safe  in  the  presence  of  Stephen. 

It  was  remarkable  that  whatever  sallies  Kirkwood  ven- 
tured upon  in  the  way  of  raillery  or  ironical  congratula- 
tion, he  never  alluded  to  Uplands  or  its  inhabitants  in  the 
joint  presence  of  the  Dangerfields.  Whether  the  omission 
was  accidental  or  designed,  the  younger  man  could  only 
surmise.  It  was,  in  any  case,  a  matter  of  no  great  moment. 
One  day,  one  of  the  few,  when  for  decency's  sake  Stephen 
had  not  ridden  over  to  Uplands,  he  happened  to  be  sitting 
in  the  large  bay-window  of  the  library,  and  it  also  hap- 
pened that  the  falling  curtains  concealed  his  person  from 
the  room.  The  door  leading  into  an  adjacent  corridor  was 
open,  and  along  this  corridor  his  father  and  Kirkwood 
were  advancing  engaged  in  earnest  conversation.  Stephen's 
quick  ear  caught  the  name  of  "  Vernon,"  uttered  by  Kirk- 
wood, and  then  came  from  his  father  a  sharp  remonstrance, 
as  it  seemed,  against  his  companion's  allusion.  "  I  like  the 
name  as  little  as  you  do,  Martin  Dangerfield,"  answered  his 
visitor,  "  so  we  need  hardly  quarrel  upon  that  score." 

Stephen  rose  instantly  and  stepped  unperceived  on  the 
piazza  and  so  into  the  garden.  He  had  no  wish  to  play 
the  spy,  and  least  of  all  if  any  overheard  discussion 
trenched  on  such  a  subject.  Perhaps  he  had  a  lurking 
apprehension  of  special  evil  in  that  very  direction.  Be  it 
as  it  may,  it  was  his  present  pleasure — infatuation,  perhaps, 
were  the  better  word — to  preserve  his  halcyon  dream  intact 
and  undisturbed  by  any  voluntary  discoveries  of  his  own. 
But  what  he  had  heard  had  at  least  this  not  unpleasing  eifeet ; 
it  removed  such  little  surprise  as  he  had  previously  felt 
that  Kirkwood  had  not  proposed  on  any  occasion  to  accom- 
pany him  to  Uplands — and  it  satisfied  him  that  that  gentle- 
man  was  unlikely  to  make  such  a  proposition  hereafter. 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  123 

These  impressions,  which,  took  the  force  of  conviction  in 
Stephen's  mind,  were,  as  far  as  they  went,  highly  agreeable 
to  him. 

We  may  readily  imagine,  therefore,  that  he  was  some- 
what astonished  and  not  a  little  disgusted  when,  on  the 
day  after  the  incident  described,  and  when  at  almost  dusk 
he  rode  past  the  lodge  at  Uplands  on  his  way  home — he 
encountered  Mr.  Kirkwood  bestriding  a  quiet  hack  of 
his  father's  and  in  the  act  of  jDroceeding  toward  the  mansion 
he  had  just  quitted. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE  last  rays  of  the  sinking  sun  were  playing  on  the 
volumes  which  filled  the  highest  shelves  in  Oliver 
Vernon's  study.  In  the  dusky  light  might  be  traced  the 
sober  furniture  of  a  comfortable  but  compact  apartment, 
whose  fittings  and  surroundings  spoke,  as  such  things  do, 
much  of  the  character  and  pursuits  of  the  occupant. 
Books  of  philosophy  were  there,  of  history  and  belles-let- 
tres, whereof  the  general  drift,  to  an  eye  nice  enough  to 
appreciate  such  distinctions,  might  be  seen  to  incline 
towards  benevolence,  and  broad,  genial  humanity.  There 
were  busts  in  the  corners  of  the  room  close  up  to  the  ceil- 
ing, and  they  were  those  of  philanthropists  and  not  of  con- 
querors,— Howard  was  there,  but  not  Napoleon.  The 
engravings  on  the  walls  partook  of  the  general  sentiment, 
which  breathed  of  generosity  and  toleration  ;  and  a  beau- 
tiful head  of  Grace,  in  crayons,  sketched  a  dozen  years 
before,  smiled  down  from  the  place  of  honor  over  the  man- 
tel, a  fitting  tutelary  genius  for  such  a  temple. 

Oliver  Vernon  had  been  writing  until  the  gathering 
gloom  had  warned  him  to  desist,  and  he  now  sat  in  his  arm- 
chair wrapped  in  reverie.  The  daj^s  which  had  passed 
since  his  return  from  abroad  had  been  days  of  activity, 


124  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

and  therefore — necesscarilj  in  hife  case — days  of  usefulness. 
Few  men  did  more  good  in  their  various  orbits  than  did 
Vernon.    Not  in  mere  alms-giving  alone,  but  in  the  patient 
seeking  out  of  the  causes  of  grief  and  distress,  and  in  striv- 
ing to  administer  conclusive  rather  than  temporary  relief. 
Here,  indeed,  was  the  key  to  his  character.     We  have  said 
before  that  he  was  regarded  by  some  as  radical  in  creeds 
and  political  opinions ;  but  his  principles  were,  in  reality, 
as  those  of  many  are  who  are  assailed  with  the  same  re- 
proach, rather  the  opposite  of  those  wliich  the  term  should 
properly  suggest.     They  were  seminal  rather  than  radical. 
He  wished  not  to  uproot  evil  so  much  as  to  sow  good ;  not 
so  much  to  punish  the  misdirected  plants  in  the  maturity 
of  their  prejudiced  and  distorted  growth,  as  to  train  the 
new  and  callow  shoots  into  a  harmonious  and  symmetrical 
one.     He  took  no  pains  to  explain  or  to  define  his  posi- 
tion,  however,   other  than  his  acts  implied  ;  they  would 
speak  for  him  in  the  future  if  not  to-day.     Vernon  had  run 
twice  for  Congress  in  his  district,  not  for  the  chance  of 
election — for  his  party  was  weak,  and  his  own  local  popu- 
larity, however  considerable,   was   inadequate  to  balance 
the  discrepancy  of  numbers — but  strictly  as  a  matter  of 
principle,  and  because  most  of  the  wealthy  landholders  of 
the  neighborhood  regularly  declined  entering  public  life. 
On  the  first  occasion  he  was  defeated  by  General  Von  Donk, 
who  then  resided  in  the  district ;  and  on  the  second  by  a 
brawny,  hard-drinking  Irishman,  of  the  McSwindle  class, 
who  had  been  sent  up  by  his  party  within  the  prescribed 
time  for  election  as  a  reward  for  his  services  in  the  great 
city  during   certain   municipal  struggles.      These  results, 
quite  anticipated  as  they  were,  had  done  Vernon  more  good 
than  harm  in  popular  estimation.    His  gentleness,  his  unos- 
tentatious charities,  his  urbanity  under  defeat,  were  natu 
rally  bruited  about,  until  there  was  now  scarcely  a  man  in 
the  county  so  much  loved  and  respected  as  he. 

The  reverie  was  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the  door,  and 
in  response  to  the  succeeding  permission,  a  servant  with — 

"  A  gentleman,  sir,  would  be  pleased  to  see  you." 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  125 

"Did  lie  send  no  card — no  name?" 

"  He  said  it  was  unnecessary — you  wouldn't  require  it, 
sir.  Simply  to  say  he  was  here,  and  would  be  pleased  to 
see  you." 

""Where  is  he  now — in  the  drawing-room,  I  suppose?" 

"No,  sir,  the  young  ladies  are  there.  Mi".  Dangerfield 
had  just  left  them.  The  gentleman  heard  their  voices, 
and  walked  into  the  little  dark  parlor,  the  other  side  of  the 
hall.     He  only  wished  to  see  you,  he  said." 

"  Yery  well.  Show  him  in.  And,  Parsons,  bring  can- 
dles directly  after." 

A  few  moments  and  James  Kirkwood  stood  in  the  room. 
Parsons  preceded  him,  and,  placing  a  chair  opposite  his 
master,  withdrew.  There  was  a  brief  silence  as  the  two 
men  sat  facing  each  other  in  the  darkened  room.  Perhaps 
both  were  studying  the  effects  of  time  on  the  other ;  per- 
haps they  were  considering  the  chances  of  the  diplomatic 
struggle  about  to  be  waged ;  perhaps  they  were  thinking 
of  what  each  knew  of  the  other  in  days  long  past ;  how- 
ever this  may  have  been,  Kirkwood  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  I  received  your  letter — only  yesterday.  The  people  in 
town  didn't  know  where  to  forward  it.  It's  not  always 
convenient  for  me  to  leave  my  address,  that  any  who  choose 
may  ferret  me  out.  I  became  anxious  about  the  schooner 
not  arriving,  and  wrote  to  the  consignor.  He  replied, 
inclosing  your  letter." 

"  Have  you  considered  the  proposal  that  letter  con- 
tains?" 

"  Yes  and  no.  It's  a  queer  coincidence  enough.  How 
do  you  know  you  are  right?  There  may  be  some  mis- 
ake?" 

"  There  is  none.  The  resemblance  to  both  parents  would 
alone  be  almost  conclusive.     Then  the  name " 

"Ay,  I  called  her  after  my  own  State.  They  called  her 
'Ally,'  for  short,  on  the  plantation." 

"Besides,"  continued  Yernon,  unlocking  an  escritoire, 
and  taking  therefrom  a  small  packet  tied  with  blue  riband, 
"  these  letters  addressed  to  you,  and  which  are  possibly 


126  dangerfield's  kest;  or 

duplicates  of  others  sent  by  mail,  would  seem  to  place  the 
matter  beyond  doubt." 

Kirkwood  took  the  letters,  and,  breaking  the  untouched 
seal  of  the  first,  directly  acquiesced. 

"  It's  clear  enough.  But  it  was  natural  to  question,  the 
incident  being  so  unusual.  Tt  only  remains,  then,  to  decide 
about  the  future." 

"  The  responsibility  and  anxiety  of  which  I  propose  to 
relieve  you  of." 

"  Your  object  in  that  is  not  so  clear." 

"  There  is  not  the  slightest  difficulty  in  making  it  so.  So 
far  as  intrusting  the  child  to  its  mother  is  concerned,  there 
needs  no  argument  to  show  that  such  a  course  were  inju- 
dicious— to  say  the  least.  You  and  I  agree  upon  that 
point,  and  it  cannot  require  discussion,  especially  as  she  is 
willing  the  child  shall  be  left  in  my  custody,  provided  you 
undertake  to  leave  her  undisturbed  therein." 

"Goon." 

"  The  remaining  alternative  of  your  taking  charge  of  the 
little  girl  yourself,"  continued  Oliver  Vernon  deliberately, 
"  appears  to  me  almost  equally  objectionable.  Your  life 
has  been  a  disreputable  one,  and  unless  a  reform  took  place 
• — of  which  I  regret  to  have  heard  no  signs — no  social 
position  which  could  accrue  to  a  daughter  of  j^ours — espe- 
cially under  all  the  circumstances — could  be  an  enviable 
one." 

"  You  go  too  far,  Vernon,"  cried  Kirkwood  passionately, 
"  you  go  too  far." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  the  other  calml3^  "  What  your 
career  Avas  before  you  went  to  California  I  need  not  recal — 
enough,  that  you  know  me  to  be  conversant  with  it.  What 
it  has  been  since,  I  can,  if  you  wish,  recite  to  you." 

Kirkwood  waved  his  hand  impatiently,  and  Vernon  con- 
tinued. 

"  I  agree  with  you  :  it  ts  unnecessary.  My  object  is  to 
come  to  an  understanding  as  quickly  as  possible.  If  you 
question  me,  I  must  reply  candidly  and  explicitly.  I  am 
willing  to  take  the  care  and  responsibility  of  your  daugh- 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  127 

ter's  girlhood  :  when  she  attains  her  majority  she  can 
decide  upon  her  own  course  for  the  future." 

A  knock,  and  the  lights  borne  by  Parsons  here  inter- 
vened, and  the  latter  having  retired,  the  illumination  sup- 
plied the  speakers  with  additional  motive  for  pausing  while 
each  was  studying  the  other's  countenance.  It  was  re- 
markable that  while  conferring  with  Vernon,  Kirkwood 
was  entirely  natural  and  unaffected.  There  was  not  a  trace 
of  that  assumption  of  suavity  and  courtliness  which  he 
prized  as  a  valuable  weapon  in  his  ordinary  intercourse 
with  the  world,  and  which  he  affected  so  largely  when  in 
the  company  of  Stephen  Dangerfield.  To  Vernon  he  was 
thoroughly  well  known  :  upon  Vernon  it  was  impossible 
that  any  hypocritical  airs  and  graces  could  impose  :  he 
therefore  confined  himself  to  the  outer  expressions  of  the 
sentiments  which  naturally  and  successively  filled  his 
breast,  and  was  by  turns  sullen,  grasping,  and  apprehen- 
sive. With  a  man  of  less  force  and  character  than  Ver- 
non he  would  have  been — as  in  the  case  of  Martin  Dan- 
gerfield— threatening  and  tyrannical.  Presently  he  spoke 
again : 

"  You  seem  to  give  me  credit  for  no  sort  of  human  feel- 
ing, Vernon." 

"  I  certainly  wish  I  could  give  you  more — and.  Hea- 
ven knows,  I  would  gladly  aid  you  to  deserve  it.  Your  na- 
ture is  too  strong  to  be  a  colorless  one.  You  must  be  either 
actively  good  or  actively  bad  :  there  is  every  appearance  of 
the  latter  in  your  past  life  and  nothing  of  the  former.  It 
may  be  that  you  cherish  affection  for  the  child  you  have 
not  seen  since  infancy — but  my  knowledge  of  your  charac- 
ter would  not  lead  me  to  rate  it  very  high." 

"  I  am  as  I  am,"  replied  Kirkwood  morosely.  "  'Tis 
idle  to  bandy  personalities.  It  may  be  in  my  power  one 
day  to  serve  or  punish  you,  so  fair  words  are  wisest.  I 
came  not  to  discuss  this  subject  alone,  either.  Because  I  left 
the  country  under  a  cloud,  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not 
have  my  just  dues.  The  estate  of  John  Grazebrook  owes 
me  twelve  thousand  dollars.     You  administered  that  es- 


128  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

tatc.  I  come  to  produce  my  proofs  and  to  demand  liqui- 
dation," 

"  How  do  you  know,  even  if  you  substantiate  the  justice 
of  your  demand,  that  there  is  aught  to  satisfy  it  ?" 

"  I  know  that  the  girl,  his  daughter,  is  reputed  to  have 
inherited  property  from  him, — that  you  made  over  a  third 
thereof  to  his  wife,  who  was  never  divorced, — and  that 
vou  hold  the  remainder  in  trust  for  the  girl.  Do  you 
deny  it?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  acknowledge  it  to  be  strictly 
true," 

"  Verv  good.  Then  here  are  the  evidences  of  the 
validity  of  my  claim," 

He  produced  as  he  spoke  sundry  papers  and  notes,  which 
the  two  men  examined  and  discussed  for  half  an  hour, 
Vernon  soon  perceived  that  these  documents,  if  genuine, 
were  conclusive  in  establishing  the  legality  of  Kirkwood's 
demand  :  he  divined,  too,  that  should  he  refuse  to  recog- 
nise their  force,  how  strong  a  weapon  might  be  employed 
in  the  threatened  revival  of  scandal  and  misery  which  liti- 
gation would  surely  involve.  Kirkwood  drew  up  a  pen- 
cilled memorandum  of  the  added  sums  with  their  interest, 
whicli  he  headed  "Estate  of  John  Grazebrook  to  James 
Kirkwood  Dr.,"  and  tossed  it  across  the  table  to  his  com- 
panion, 

"I  think  you  will  find  that  correct, 

"  I  am  to  understand,  then,  that,  notwithstanding  its 
satisfaction  Avould  leave  Miss  Grazebrook  penniless,  you 
will  persist  in  pressing  this  claim?" 

"Is  there  anything  unjust  in  that?  Is  not  the  debt 
obviously  a  fair  one  ?  I  am  getting  older ;  I  am  needy ; 
Miss  Grazebrook,  under  your  auspices,  will  make  a  bril- 
liant marriage  ;  why  should  I  not  have  my  just  dues  ?" 

Yernon  pondered  for  a  few  moments,  and  came,  as  he 
usually  did  in  questions  involving  practical  action,  to  a 
prompt  decision, 

"  There  is  reason  in  what  you  say,  and  I  will  comply 
witli  your  demand  upon  certain  conditions." 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  129 

"  Name  them." 

"  You  will  agree  definitely  to  my  proposition  about  the 
child,  and  make  the  agreement  conclusive  by  a  legal  under- 
taking covering  her  life  until  she  is  of  age." 

"What  else?" 

"  You  will  surrender  these  papers,  and  give  a  proper 
acquittance  in  full  of  all  claims  against  John  Grazebrook's 
estate." 

"  Is  that  all  ?" 

"  Finally,  you  will  promise  to  leave  your  child  to  my 
unrestricted  charge,  and  in  ignorance,  so  far  as  any  act  of 
yours  is  concerned,  of  your  true  relationship  towards  her." 

"  You  drive  a  sharp  bargain,  Oliver  Vernon,  in  spite  of 
your  philanthropic  reputation  ;  but  be  it  so.  When  am  I 
to  receive  the  money  ?" 

"  Within  three  days.  I  will  cause  the  necessary  papers 
to  be  drawn  by  a  discreet  and  practised  hand.  Where  can 
I  communicate  with  you  ?" 

"At  the  house  of  your  neighbor,  Martin  Dangerfield." 

"  Martin  Dangerfield !  you  at  his  house  ?" 

"  Why  not  ?  I  am,  and  for  some  time  expect  to  con- 
tinue to  be,  his  guest." 

"  I  had  the  impression  he  saw  no  company  of  late  years." 

"  Nor  does  he.  I  am  an  exception.  We  are  very  old 
friends." 

Whatever  surprise  Yernon  may  have  felt  at  this  state- 
ment, he  expressed  no  more  than  was  conveyed  by  his  first 
exclamation ;  and  the  interview  concluded  upon  a  reitera- 
tion of  the  compact  and  stipulations  which  have  been 
described. 


6* 


130  dangerfield's  rest;  or 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ANOTHER  fortnight  rolled  away,  and  Stephen  and 
Grace  continued  to  quaff  the  cup  of  their  new-found 
felicity.  A  hundred  times  did  the  former  think  of  and 
defer  his  resolution  to  seek  the  advice  of  Vernon,  notwith- 
standing the  additional  reason  which  had  grown  up  to 
make  such  a  step  necessary  as  a  matter  of  honor,  however 
questionable  as  one  of  policy.  As  to  Kirkwood,  the  appre- 
hensions excited  in  Stephen's  breast  on  the  evening  of  his 
encountering  that  gentleman  on  his  way  to  Uplands,  had 
slowly  subsided.  He  had  at  first  coupled  this  sudden  visit 
to  the  Vernons  with  the  probability  of  some  statement 
being  made  to  the  head  of  that  family  in  relation  to  his 
own  position  ajnopos  of  the  mortgage,  and  felt  rather  humi- 
liated as  he  thought  of  how  equivocally  he  should  stand  in 
the  estimation  of  Vernon  should  the  latter  thus  receive  the 
statement  which  ought  to  come  from  his  own  lips.  But 
with  the  specious  reasoning  common  to  lovers,  he  argued 
that  if  the  intelligence  had  been  communicated,  it  was  use- 
less alike  for  him  to  repeat  or  to  deprecate  it ;  he  could 
only  await  the  result,  whatever  that  might  be.  Soon,  how- 
ever, he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  no  such  confidence  had 
passed  between  Oliver  Vernon  and  Kirkwood — a  conclu- 
sion based  on  various  concurrent  circumstances.  The  man- 
ner of  Vernon  towards  himself  had  not  changed  in  the 
slightest  degree — which  in  itself  was  pretty  good  evidence. 
Kirkwood  became  more  reticent  than  before,  never  making 
any  allusion  whatever  to  the  Vernons,  or  to  the  incident 
of  meeting  Stephen  at  the  lodge.  If,  from  any  motive  of 
caprice  or  malice,  he  had  made  the  communication  in  ques- 
tion, it  was  unlikely  that  he  should  never  refer  to  the  fact, 
— the  same  motive  would  induce  him  to  suggest,  by  open 
allusion  or  covert  sneer,  the  step  he  had  taken,  or  its  in- 
tended consequences.  Thus  Stephen  came  around  again  to 
face  the  necessity  for  an  effort  of  pluck  and  straightfor- 
wardness on  his  part,  and  was,  to  do  him  justice,  on  the 


BEFORE   THE  STORM.  131 

point  of  making  that  effort.  Of  the  real  connecting  link 
which  bound  Kirkwood  to  the  family  of  Vernon,  we  need 
scarcely  say,  he  was  entirely  ignorant,  and  the  understand- 
ing of  which  the  reader  is  cognizant  was  calculated  to 
keep  him  so.  Kirkwood  paid  no  further  visits  to  Uplands, 
and  although  the  curiosity  of  Stephen  was  strongly  piqued 
at  the  outset,  the  paramount  interest  of  his  absorbing  pas- 
sion soon  thrust  the  other  from  his  attention.  He  felt  that 
he  was  doing  wrong  in  postponing  an  explanation  with 
Vernon,  and  he  was  not  the  man  to  persevere  for  any  great 
length  of  time  in  wrong-doing.  Nor  was  he  willing  to 
avail  of  the  obvious  excuse  that  his  acquaintance  with 
Grace  was  too  short  to  justify  conclusive  prognostications; 
for  he  knew  perfectly  that  his  feelings  towards  her,  and  he 
knew  almost  perfectly  that  her  feelings  towards  him,  were  as 
defined  and  absolute  as  ever  so  lengthy  a  wooing  could 
have  made  them.  But  just  as  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  bring  matters  to  a  climax,  a  fresh  interruption  presented 
in  the  arrival  at  Uplands  of  their  two  fellow-voyagers — 
Cuthbert  Boynton  and  Robert  Eliot. 

This  visit  was  in  compliance  with  the  invitation  given 
and  accepted  on  board  the  Assyria^  and  it  operated  as  a 
diversion  in  a  variety  of  ways.  Vernon — wishing  always 
to  do  good  rather  than  to  be  triumphant — was  not  sorry  to 
bring  himself  and  his  family  into  the  familiar  contact  of 
social  intercourse  with  one  who,  both  in  theory  and  prac- 
tice the  upholder  and  representative  of  opinions  so  opposed 
to  their  own,  was  yet  so  cultivated  and  so  moderate  an 
exponent  of  them.  He  was  desirous,  too,  that  Eliot,  as  a 
young  Englishman,  whose  views  and  experience  might 
have  some  leavening  effect  on  the  future  opinions  or  policj' 
of  his  countrymen  towards  America,  should  have  all  op- 
portunity of  seeing  her  social  life  in  its  various  phases,  and 
not  return  to  England  with  those  mere  surface  prejudices 
which  so  many  of  his  morbidly  conventional  compatriots 
are  so  ready  to  imbibe,  and  so  active  to  disseminate.  He 
appreciated  and  deplored  the  vast  deal  of  mischief  which 
is  effected  by  tourists,  who  go  about  collecting  microscopi- 


132  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

cally  every  little  trait,  custom,  mode  of  speech  or  thought, 
which  is  calculated  by  their  nice  perceptions  to  be  pecu- 
liarly oifensive  and  distasteful  to  the  more  insular  or  more 
fastidious  civilizations  of  the  Old  World ;  who,  utterly  for- 
getful of  the  changes  and  modifications  inevitable  in  the 
formation  of  a  vast  new  society,  from  whatever  stock  it 
springs,  weakly  permit  their  prejudices  to  place  to  the 
account  of  Republicanism  so  much  that  is  justly  ascribable 
to  the  extended  settlement  of  new  territory,  and  to  an 
unprecedented  mingling  of  races;  who,  in  their  ambition 
to  achieve  the  reputation  of  being  wits  and  "  photographic" 
depictors  of  scenes  and  incidents,  neglect  to  consider  that, 
when  absurdly  affecting  that  descriptive  felicity  is  best 
attained  by  emphasizing  all  that  is  small  and  mean,  and 
ignoring  all  that  is  great  and  noble,  they  are  also  sowing  the 
seeds  of  hatred  and  contempt  between  mighty  nations ;  who, 
in  a  word,  degrade  letters  and  themselves,  as  well  as  debauch 
opinion,  by  choosing  to  ignore  the  fact  that  he  who  professes 
to  instruct  others  should  be  guided  in  his  course  by  the 
courtesy,  the  toleration,  and  the  integrity  of  gentlemen. 

It*  was  obvious  that  Robert  Eliot  would  not  add  to 
the  objectionable  category  we  attempt  to  describe.  He  was 
at  once  sufficiently  educated  and  sufficiently  liberal  to  per- 
ceive that  there  might  be  good  things  in  America  whose 
existence  could  be  admitted  without  detriment  to  England 
or  any  other  country.  He  had  intellect  enough  to  appreciate 
that  among  nations  as  well  as  among  individuals  the  true 
philosophy  is  to  strive  to  adopt  and  emulate  whatever  is  excel- 
lent or  commendable  in  another,  rather  than  to  pass  life  in 
stigmatizing  and  ridiculing  whatever  is  bad  or  objectionable. 
He  was  therefore  prepared  to  be  both  candid  and  just — 
a  state  of  mind  likely  to  lead  to  very  different  conclusions 
from  those  which  have  resulted  from  the  labors  of  most  of 
our  European  critics  and  observers. 

Thus,  when  questioned,  Eliot  did  not  hesitate  to  say 
that,  so  far  as  his  observation  had  extended,  although  our 
wealthier  class  was  not,  as  a  rule,  up  to  the  standard  of 
European  culture  and  refinement,  yet  that  our  masses  were 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  133 

mucla  better  educated  and  mucli  more  intelligent  than 
their  transatlantic  prototypes.  If  our  Patricians  were  less 
polished,  our  Plebeians  were  much  more  so.  He  had  the 
generosity  to  admit  what  is  incontestably  true,  that  the 
abuses  of  our  large  sea-board  towns  are  due  in  a  great 
degree  to  the  foreign  rather  than  to  the  native  portion 
of  their  population; — and  that  the  worst  element  therein  is 
that  derived  from  the  British  Isles.  He  was  too  well  bred 
to  ridicule  people  whose  hospitality  he  had  partaken,  so  he 
did  not  openly  laugh  at  the  Von  Donks.  But  it  was 
evident  that  the  class  of  which  they  constitute  a  sample 
struck  him  as  being  absurdly  ignorant,  pretentious,  and 
illiberal.  He  was  not  prepared  to  admit  that  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Hotel  was  a  more  imposing  pile  than  "Westminster 
Abbey,  or  that  the  — th  Militia  Regiment  would  put  to  the 
blush  the  Coldstream  Guards,  but  he  was  quite  ready  to 
acknowledge  that  each  had  excellences  and  uses  in  its 
way,  to  allow  which  need  not  derogate  from  the  beauties  or 
the  merits  of  the  other. 

The  evening  mail  on  the  same  day  which  saw  the  new 
guests  at  Uplands,  brought  a  letter  for  Grace,  which  that 
young  lady  perused  in  her  chamber  after  retiring  for  the 
night ;  and,  inasmuch  as  she  had  the  bad  faith  to  show  it  to 
Elinor,  who  came  from  her  room  adjoining  to  learn  the  cause 
of  her  friend's  half-smothered  laughter,  we  may  be  pardoned 
for  revealing  its  contents.     They  ran  as  follows  : — 

Newport,  Ocloher  25ih,  185 — . 

Respected  Miss  : — 

I  hope  you  will  not  think  me  presumptuous  that  I  sit 
down  and  take  my  pen  in  hand  on  this  occasion.  My 
feelings  during  those  happy  hours  I  passed  in  your  fasci- 
nating society  aboard  the  Assyria  (so  soon  Alas  to  end), 
could  not  have  been  entirely  unknown  to  you,  and  I  hope 
your  ob*^'-  ser^*-  has  not  been  too  vain  in  counting 
them  not  altogether  unreciprocated.  My  friend  and  adviser 
Elias  P.  Staggers  (you  remember  Elias  P.,  a  high-toned  and 
whole-souled  gentleman  in  the  Stock  Brokerage  and  Com- 
mission line  ?)  assures  me  that  this  is  the  proper  method  for 


13-i  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

making  you  acquainf^  with  the  present  condition  of  my 
sentiments.  It  is  true  as  you  may  have  heard  that  there 
was  a  sort  of  engagement  (in  compliance  with  the  wishes 
of  my  mother)  with  Miss  Joanna,  first  and  only  daughter 
of  our  distinguished  fellow-citizen  Hon.  J.  Heydensucker ; 
but  I  am  happy  to  assure  you  that  owing  to  the  disinter- 
ested exertions  of  Elias  P.,  this  is  broken  off  and  the  hated 
nuptials  will  never  come  off.  I  am  therefore  free,  Dear 
Miss  to  offer  my  hand  where  my  heart  has  long  been 
donated,  and  my  family  approve  the  happy  deed.  Elias 
P.'s  conduct  in  the  role  of  mediator  meets  the  applause  of 
all.  The  arrangement  conflicted  at  first  with  the  ideas  of 
Gen.  Von  Donk  (who  expects  to  shortly  represent  our 
district  in  the  Halls  of  State),  but  he  is  now  utterly 
agreeable.  I  need  say  nothing  of  my  family  or  means  as 
both  are  well  known  to  you.  Pa  thinks  I  ought  to  be  in 
some  business  prior  to  the  blissful  event,  and  as  there  is 
a  retirement  of  a  junior  partner  in  the  house  of  Brine, 
Cutts  &  Co.  (In  the  pork  packing  line)  he  proposes  to  buy 
me  an  interest.  Their  Mr.  Cutts  and  he  have  had  an 
understanding  to  that  effect,  which  need  not  operate  should 
you  oppose.  We  shall  have  a  new  brown  stone  on  De  Witt 
Clinton  Square  close  to  the  park  and  stocked  with  entire 
new  furniture.  All  shall  smile  propitious,  your  every  wish 
shall  be  my  law.  I  have  the  nicest  span  on  the  Island. 
They  beat  Spinner's  hollow.  They  are  named  Filagree 
and  Amethyst,  and  can  show  2.36  to  a  light  road  wagon. 
On  hearing  from  you,  I  will  immediately  arrange  with 
Emmanuel  Isaacs  Esq.  (the  gentlemanly  lessee  of  the  Opera 
here)  for  a  box  quite  as  large  and  stylish  as  the  De  Buggins'. 
Hoping  soon  to  receive  the  favoring  reply  which  may  calm 
and  delight  my  anxious  heart,  I  am 

Yours  Respectfully, 

Gossamer  Von  Donk. 

We  need  say  nothing  of  the  response  which  the  followmg 
post  conveyed  to  this  epistle,  further  than  that  it  in  no 
wise  imperilled  the  hopes  of  Stephen  Dangerfield. 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  135 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


A  LAZY  afternoon  in  October.  The  long  drawing-room 
at  Uplands,  with  windows  to  the  floor,  opening  on  the 
piazza,  and  showing  through  their  snowy  curtains  the 
nutty  brown,  and  golden  yellow,  and  dappled  crimson 
which  glorify  the  foliage  of  an  American  autumn.  The 
Hudson  bright  and  blue,  just  embracing  old  ocean  at  the 
edge  of  the  horizon.  The  sky  with  its  deep  melting 
tenderness  of  tone,  broken  here  and  there  with  flocky 
lumps  of  clouds  which  are  standing  almost  immovable. 

Stephen  Dangerfield  and  Grace  Vernon  pretending  to 
play  at  chess,  their  table  at  the  room's  furthest  extremity, 
half  in,  half  out  of  window.  Long  pauses  between  the 
moves,  when  the  gentleman,  whose  back  is  turned  toward 
the  interior  of  the-  apartment,  is  supposed  by  the  careless 
spectator  to  be  pondering  over  the  convolutions  of  knights 
and  bishops,  but  who  in  truth  is  diligently  studying  the 
expression  of  the  blushing  face  before  him.  Sweet  Grace 
prettier  than  ever,  trying  to  feign  unconsciousness  and  con- 
stantly betrayed  by  the  rebellious  color. 

At  the  piano-forte  hard  by,  sits  Elinor  Grazebrook, 
softly  singing  in  her  melodious  mezzo-soprano  a  fragment 
from  the  favorite  Opera  of  the  day.  Cuthbert  Boynton 
is  not  so  fortunate  in  his  position  as  Stephen,  for  his 
unmistakable  expression  as  he  stands  watchfully  to  turn 
the  music,  is  reflected  in  the  mirror  opposite,  and  caught  by 
the  amused  eye  of  Robert  Eliot,  who  is  chatting  with  Ver- 
non, while  the  latter  in  turn  is  caressing  little  Ally. 

It  is  odd  how  fast  people  get  on  who  have  made  sea- 
voyages  together.  The  having  shared  a  community  of 
danger  and  adventure  tends  perhaps  to  loosen  the  chain  of 
conventional  restraint,  and  to  increase  the  disposition  to 
frankness  and  cordiality.  We  usually  either  like  very 
much  or  dislike  very  much  those  with  whom  we  are  thus 
thrown  in  close  contact  on  the  ocean,  as  the  party  we 
describe  had   good  occasion  to  believe.     Again,   there  is 


136  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

very  little  doubt  but  that  love-making  is,  to  a  great  extent, 
a  contagious  disease.  We  can't  help  thinking  there  must 
be  something  very  pleasant  about  an  occupation  others  are 
pursuing  with  such  alacrity  under  our  very  noses ;  and 
from  thinking  thus  to  joining  in  the  popular  diversion 
when  the  opportunity  presents,  is  but  a  step.  Such  was 
the  step — one  he  was  quite  ready  to  take — which  the 
young  Southerner  adopted  very  soon  after  his  arrival  at 
Uplands. 

His  eye  and  his  imagination  had  been  alike  fascinated  by 
the  exquisitely  moulded  figure,  the  classic  and  harmonious 
face  of  Elinor  when  he  first  encountered  them  on  the  quar- 
ter-deck as  they  steamed  out  of  the  Mersey.  The  admira- 
tion of  his  intellect,  the  solid  esteem  of  his  judgment,  were 
additional  conquests  made  by  the  unconscious  girl  as  the 
acquaintance  progressed.  We  have  intimated  before  that 
from  organization  as  well  as  from  the  accidents  of  associa- 
tion, Elinor  was  far  more  reticent  than  Gi'ace  Vernon.  The 
feelings  which  instinctively  fear  to  be  hurt,  lie  concealed  in 
the  breast  of  the  sensitive  who  have  suifered,  whilst  they 
play  about  in  the  sunshine,  and  are  open  as  day  with  those 
who  have  neither  felt  wrong  nor  smarted  under  affliction. 
Grace  was  early  aware  of  the  unspoken  attachment  of  her 
admirer,  while  Elinor  was  quite  unconscious  of  the  havoc 
she  was  making  in  the  heart  of  Cuthbert  Boynton. 

"  Dear  me,"  laughed  Grace  in  the  symphonied  interval 
between  two  verses,  "  dear  me,  Mr.  Dangerfield,  that's  the 
third  time  you  have  discovered  a  check  on  your  king.  You 
really  must  move  him  this  time  !" 

Stephen  muttered  something  which  ought  to  have 
been  an  acknowledgment  of  the  impossibility  of  looking 
at  the  board  and  at  Grace  at  the  same  time,  but  which 
was  not. 

"  Beautiful  !  most  beautiful  !"  murmured  Cuthbert,  his 
eyes  riveted  to  the  lovely  face  of  the  singer  as  she 
ended  her  strain.  Then  to  cover  some  little  confusion  of 
his  own  he  went  on  rapidly,  "  I  really  don't  see  why  Verdi 
should  be  so  much  decried  :  grant  that  his  music  is  emo- 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  137 

tional,  or,  as  the  current  slang  lias  it,  sensational — why 
should  it  not  be  ?  For  what  is  music  but  a  power  acting 
upon  the  emotions  through  the  medium  of  the  senses  ?" 

"  I  think  music  something  higher  and  nobler  than  that," 
said  Elinor.  "  Your  definition  might  be  accurate  enough 
if  we  consider  ourselves  as  bodies  without  souls.  The 
higher  and  nobler  part  of  music,  I  suppose,  must  be  that 
which  we  only  catch  glimpses  of  now,  but  which  we  shall 
appreciate  and  enjoy  to  the  full  hereafter.  That  which  is 
so  purely  passional  can  have  little  to  do  with  the  soul." 

"  Verdi  is  the  melodramatist  of  music,"  said  Vernon, 
"  in  the  acquired,  of  course,  and  not  in  the  strict  sense  of 
the  term.  His  is  the  cup  of  all  honey  which  cloys  long 
before  we  come  to  the  dregs.  The  Italians  always  appeal 
to  the  senses  where  the  Germans  appeal  to  the  soul.  There 
is  an  ineffable  dignity,  a  reaching  into  the  mysteries  of  the 
immortal  future  about  Beethoven,  for  instance,  which  can 
never  be  found  in  Verdi." 

"  He's  the  fashion,  however,  both  with  you  and  in  Eu- 
rope," remarked  Eliot,  "  his  melodies  certainly  captivate 
the  popular  ear.  I  don't  think  any  composer  has  been  so 
genuinely  successful  in  reaching  and  pleasing  all  classes  in 
England  since  the  earlier  efforts  of  Kossini  and  Bellini." 

"  'Tis  the  evanescent  trick  of  the  times,  at  least,  in  some 
degree,"  replied  Vernon ;  "  the  passion  of  the  hour  on  both 
sides  of  the  water  is  for  what  Mr.  Boynton  quotes  as  '  sen- 
sational.' Monstrous  concerts  and  exhibitions  of  all  man- 
ner of  things  anomalous  crowded  together,  instead  of  the 
various  parts  being  perfected  and  enjoyed  in  detail;  Novels 
which  appeal  to  a  prurient  love  for  the  gross  and  the  mar- 
vellous, instead  of  a  healthful  taste  for  the  natural  and  the 
true :  Plays  relying  upon  scenery,  mechanism,  and  '  won- 
derful effects,'  instead  of  upon  originality  of  construction 
and  talent  in  composition.  The  author  of  Waverley  now- 
a-days  would  have  about  as  much  chance  (with  the  masses) 
if  competing  with  G.  W.  M.  Eeynolds,  as  Shakespeare 
would  have  in  the  same  relation  with  Mr.  Bourcicault.  The 
corrupt  taste  extends  to  the  press  and  makes  possible  the 


138  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

success  of  such  monstrosities  as  the  New  York  Crier.  We 
are  worse  oif  in  this  particular  respect  than  the  Enghsh, 
because  the  lowness  of  price  and  consequent  habit  of  ap- 
pealing to  the  grossest  prejudices  of  the  lowest  classes 
intensifies  the  evil  to  an  extent  which  they  partly  escape. 
Even  the  very  pulpits  have  become  sensational ;  the  infec- 
tion extends  to  theology  as  well  as  to  literature  and  art. 
Of  course  these  exaggerations  are  but  ephemeral ;  thej  are 
unnatural  and  untrue,  and  will  therefore  be  short-lived." 

"  Still,  they  will  achieve  a  certain  good,"  said  Eliot,  "  on 
the  principle  that  it  is  only  when  mankind  have  suffered 
from  oppression  and  tyranny  that  they  fully  comprehend 
the  blessings  of  constitutional  freedom.  The  exaggeration 
and  falsehood  of  a  '  sensation  '  age  will  beget  and  stimulate 
a  healthful  appetite  hereafter  for  the  natural  and  truthful. 
Verdi  will  thus  be  the  instrument  of  good  in  his  art  in  the 
same  manner  as  other  offenders  are  unconscious  reformers 
in  theirs." 

"  T  wouldn't  do  him  injustice,"  said  Vernon  ;  "  there  is 
much  that  is  beautiful  about  his  compositions,  although  in 
a  limited  sense.  He  is  certainly  not  such  a  blot  and  defor- 
mity in  his  art  as  these  scribblers  we  speak  of  in  theirs." 

"  Limited,  I  suppose,"  said  Elinor,  "  because  the  capacity 
for  very  high  thought  is  so  seldom  compatible  with  that  for 
describing  extreme  emotional  phenomena.  The  best  quali- 
ties of  Milton  and  the  best  qualities  of  Byron,  if  com- 
bined, would  make  a  writer  who  might  be  the  type  of  an 
ideal  composer." 

"A  sort  of  lyrical  Shakespeare,"  remarked  Vernon;  "  I 
fear  the  world  will  have  to  wait  another  age  or  two  for 
him." 

"Speaking  of  Shakespeare,"  said  Robert  Eliot,  "in  my 
walk  this  morning  I  fell  in  with  a  face  and  form  which 
would  '  make  up '  capitally  for  the  stage  idea  of  '  lago.' 
A  dark  handsome  man,  with  a  glittering  eye,  and  such  a 
curious  expression  of  alternating  subtlety  and  frankness. 
A  compatriot  of  3'ours,  by  the  way,  Boynton,  born  in 
Alabama,  I  hear." 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  139 

"In  Alabama?"  said  the  Southerner  with  interest ;  "did 
he. mention  his  name?" 

"  Oh !  no.  Our  meeting  was  quite  accidental — at  the 
little  banking-office  in  the  village.  But  I  heard  the  clerk 
in  a.ttendance  address  him  as  'James  Kirkwood,'  and  while 
I  transacted  the  trifling  business  which  took  me  there,  the 
same  official,  with  that  laudable  desire  for  the  spread  of  use- 
ful knowledge  which  seems  so  common  hereabouts,  ac- 
quainted me  with  the  gentleman's  birthplace,  adding  that 
he  had  been  a  visitor  for  some  time  at  Daugerfield's 
Rest." 

"  Yes,"  said  Stephen  from  the  chess-table,  and  speaking 
with  some  embarrassment,  "  an  acquaintance  of  my  father's. 
They  have  some  business  relations,  I  believe." 

Grace  looked  very  uncomfortable,  and  Elinor,  the  color 
mounting  to  her  face,  murmured  an  excuse,  and  glided 
forth  on  the  piazza.  A  shade  came  over  the  usually  placid 
face  of  Vernon,  and  there  was  an  instant  of  awkwardness 
and  silence.  Eliot  saw  with  a  glance  that  he  had  inadver- 
tently been  the  cause  of  the  general  confusion,  and  with 
quick  good  breeding  effected  a  diversion  by  commencing  a 
game  of  romps  with  little  Ally,  who,  as  ignorant  as  him- 
self, entered  into  his  views  with  high  glee.  Yernon  pre- 
sently took  the  opportunity  to  follow  Elinor  to  the  piazza. 
She  took  his  arm  with  an  affectionate  but  apprehensive 
pressure. 

"  That  man — here  again  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  He  has  been  here — here  in  this  house — not  by  my  wish, 
but  of  his  own  instance.  It  was  to  arrange  the  matter  of 
which  we  spoke,  and  which,  as  I  told  you,  he  was  willing 
to  adjust  as  proposed,  and  as  she  agreed.  He  will  come 
here  no  more.  That  is  included  in  our  understanding,  as 
well  as  the  stipulation  that  he  is  not  to  make  known  his 
relation  to  the  child — or  others." 

"  But  what  can  he  be  doing  at  Daugerfield's  Rest  ?" 

"  Of  that  I  am  as  ignorant  as  yourself.  He  explained 
his  sojourn  as  being  a  visit  to  an  old  friend.  I  had  hoped 
that  ere  this  he  would  have  taken  his  leave." 


140  DANGERFIELD's  REST;   OR 

"  Is  it  not  strange  that  Mr.  Stephen  Dangerfield  has 
never  named  the  circumstance  ?" 

"  It  appears  so,  certainly.  Perhaps  he  has  an  inkling  of 
matters  which,  in  such  a  case,  would  impose  silence  on  the 
score  of  delicacy.     I  can  imagine  no  other  reason." 

"Had  you  no  conversation  with  him  excepting  on  the 
subject  of  Ally  ?" 

"  None.  There  was  no  other  to  discuss.  Stay — at  my 
second  interview  with  him,  which  took  place  at  the  bank- 
er's, he  undertook  to  refrain  from  molesting  hery 

Elinor  marked  the  good  man's  venial  prevarication,  and 
well  understood  the  cause.  At  early  morning,  on  the  day 
after  Kirkwood's  visit,  she  had,  while  walking  in  the  gar- 
den, discerned  a  white  slip  of  paper  lying  in  the  grass 
under  the  study  windows.  Some  document  of  Mr.  Ver- 
non's, she  thought,  blown  out  by  the  wind — no  unusual 
incident.  She  picked  it  up  with  the  intention  of  restoring 
it,  and  as  she  did  so  her  own  name  caught  her  eye.  It  was 
Kirkwood's  pencilled  memorandum,  headed  "  Estate  of 
John  Grazebrook  to  James  Kirkwood,  Dr.,"  and  dated. 
The  story  was  clear  to  her.  There  was  a  claim  against  the 
small  property  left  by  her  father,  which  the  figures  showed 
to  quite  absorb  her  little  fortune.  Oliver  Vernon  had  satis- 
fied this  claim,  and  intended  to  keep  her  in  ignorance  of 
the  transaction.  The  untoward  accident  had  baulked  his 
kindl}^  purpose. 

"Do  not  let  this  trifling  incident  annoy  you,  my  dar- 
ling. 'Tis  but  for  once.  No  one  here  will  allude  to  the 
man  again,  and  I  will  endeavor  to  induce  his  speedy  depar- 
ture from  the  neighborhood.  It  distresses  me  deeply  that 
such  things  should  occur,  but  only  because  you  attach  to 
them  an  exaggerated  importance." 

He  spoke  anxiously,  with  a  loving  and  still  strong  arm 
about  her,  and,  as  Elinor  looked  up  with  a  smile  half 
painful,  half  wistful,  pressed  a  father's  kiss  on  her  pure, 
broad  brow.  And  Cuthbert,  who  saw  what  passed,  mar- 
velled what  possible  connexion  there  could  be  between  this 
dark  lago  Eliot  spoke  of,  and  the  beautiful  girl  who  had 


BEFORE   THE  STORM.  141 

SO  swiftly  and  unconsciously  become  the  mistress  of  his 
heart, 

"Who  has  not  spent  many  an  hour  of  the  interior  life — 
ever  unsatisfying  because  ending  in  shadows,  ever  sustain- 
ing because  rosy  with  hope — in  dreaming  of  that  ideal 
which  is  said  to  exist  for  all — whose  qualities  physical  and 
spiritual  are  precisely  adapted  to  our  utmost  needs  of  love, 
devotion,  use, — whose  virtues  shall  eke  out  our  own  pecu- 
liar imperfections  and  blend  two  natures  into  the  promised 
harmonious  unity  ?  The  beautiful  theory  which  teaches 
this  principle  as  a  truth  has,  at  least,  its  universality  to 
recommend  it.  It  is  cherished  in  the  dwellings  of  rich  and 
needy,  of  the  powerful  and  the  weak,  of  the  scholar  and 
the  boor.  The  ignorant  peasant  who  has  neither  read  nor 
been  told  of  the  poetic  thought,  will  tell  you  it  is  yet  no 
stranger  to  him.  Men  whose  lives  have  been  devoted  to 
hard,  petrifying  pursuits,  as  of  state-craft,  law,  figures, 
mere  money-getting,  will  tell  you  if  you  can  get  at  what 
left  of  their  softer  natures,  that  they  too  have  felt  and 
dreamed  of  it — and  that  when  they  found,  or  thought  they 
had  found,  that  they  were  not  to  be  of  the  fortunate  few 
who  realize  it,  they  turned  for  comfort  or  oblivion  to  their 
present  ways  of  life.  Some  say,  that  only  boys  and  girls, 
young  men  and  maidens  cherish  this  lovely  hope,  indulge 
this  romantic  aspiration.  Is  this  true,  silver-haired  old 
man  ?  Is  it  true,  poor  faded  sister  ?  both  going,  perhaps, 
tremulously  down  to  mateless  and  unloved  graves  ?  You 
do  not  say  so.  You  say,  "if  not  now,  hereafter^''  No,  the 
hope  is  universal — one  proof  of  divine  inspiration  in  its 
origin,  to  add  to  the  greater  one — that  it  consoles. 

We  meet  a  man,  a  woman,  and  we  know  instantly,  mag- 
netically, that  they  have  this  or  that  quality  which  is  also 
a  part  of  our  ideal — the  other  more  beautiful  self  that 
belongs  to  us.  Sometimes  there  are  many  of  these  quali- 
ties, and  we  are  surprised  or  attracted  to  pursue  the  posses- 
sor. Thus  many  unions  come  which  are  mistakes  and 
which  cause  misery.    Yet  both  parties  have  been  but  obey- 


142  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

ing  nature  or  destiny  in  so  struggling  to  attain  their  ideal. 
They  fail ;  but  it  is  because  they  are  unfortunate,  or  because 
their  sight  is  not  clear.  In  either  case,  they  are  to  believe 
that  the  blunder  is  to  conduce  to  their  own  ultimate  good, 
and  that  the  happy  junction  will  inflillibly  take  place — 
hereafter. 

Cuthbert  Boynton  had  found  his  ideal.  He  was  firmly 
convinced  of  it,  and  nothing  could  have  persuaded  him  to 
the  contrary.  Certainly  his  experience  was  entitled  to  much 
respect  and  consideration.  He  knew  a  vast  deal  about  pretty 
women  in  a  general  way.  He  appreciated  the  cognate  force 
which  lies  in  handsome  eyes,  snowy  complexions,  flowing 
tresses,  budding  figures,  pretty  ankles,  irresistible  Balmo- 
rals, and  all  the  rest  of  it.  He  had  too  much  money,  and 
had  travelled  too  much  not  to  have  been  compelled  to 
march  up  to  these  batteries — or  past  them — in  many  lands 
and  under  various  and  critical  circumstances.  The  mere 
fact  of  encountering  a  woman  and  finding  her  handsome 
by  no  means  included  with  him  a  forced  flirtation  at  any 
price.  He  would  rather  smoke  cigars,  read  books,  look  at 
pictures,  drive,  hunt  and  shoot.  Men  get  indurated,  cal- 
loused in  a  manner,  to  what  was  once  temptation,  who  have 
been  accustomed  to  roam  at  will,  and  have  been  taught  by 
experience  to  beware  of  traps  and  pitfalls.  He  was  cour- 
teous, refined,  attentive  so  far  as  prescribed  by  convention, 
to  every  lady  he  met,  young  or  old,  and  quite  as  a  matter 
of  course.  But  when,  as  the  Fates  would  have  it,  he  stum- 
bled upon  Elinor  Grazebrook,  Cuthbert  knew  that  his  hour 
was  come.  She  answered  in  every  respect,  so  far  as  person 
was  concerned,  the  creature  of  his  dreams.  And,  as  he 
got  to  know  her  more  and  more,  he  saw  without  surprise, 
but  with  exceeding  joy,  that  the  nobler  qualities  quite  came 
up  to  the  air-drawn  previsions  of  his  ideal.  He  felt  so 
satisfied  that  here  was  a  case  of  natural  adaptation,  that 
he  astonished  himself  one  day  soon  after  arriving  at  Up- 
lands by  the  sudden  suggestion,  "  Is  it  absolutely  certain 
that  the  lady  will  recognise  the  fact  as  thoroughly  as  I 
myself  do  ?" 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  143 

On  the  same  day  he  set  about  gathering  such  information 
as  might  throw  hght  on  a  subject  so  interesting,  and,  as 
became  a  strategist,  he  essayed  to  obtain  some  knowledge 
of  its  topography  before  venturing  into  the  enemies'  country. 
Grace  and  Cuthbert  were  very  good  friends,  as  young  people 
always  are  when  enjoying  a  pleasure  in  common  which 
each  sees  without  conflicting  with  the  other.  The  only 
difference  was  in  their  manner  of  enjoying  the  pleasure, 
for  Cuthbert  was  rather  serious  if  not  solemn,  and  Grace 
was  somewhat  arch  if  not  coquettish.  Would  Miss  Vernon 
be  pleased  to  tell  him,  he  asked  in  confidence,  if — that  is,  if 
she  saw  no  impropriety  in  the  question, — if  Miss  Graze- 
brook  had  as  yet  contracted  any  engagement — that  is  to  say, 
any  attachment?  And  Miss  Yernon  blushed,  as  young 
ladies  usually  do  at  such  questions,  and  said,  "  None  that  I 
know  of — unless,  indeed  it  might  be  for — papa." 

Cuthbert  would  have  been  annoyed  by  an  approach  to 
trifling  but  for  his  pleasure  at  the  information  he  elicited. 
He  went  on : 

"  Miss  Grazebrook  has  been  a  member  of  your  family 
for  some  years,  I  believe  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  Quite  five.  Ever  since  she  lost  her  father. 
We  regard  her  as  belonging  entirely  to  ourselves  now  ; 
papa  as  his  daughter,  I  as  my  sister." 

"She  has  a  most  engaging  character — I  mean  a  most 
attractive  and  lovable  one." 

"  Has  she  not  ?  Every  one  likes  Elinor,  except  people 
who  now  and  then  try  to  be  a  little  too  familiar  with  her, 
and  get  snubbed  for  their  pains." 

"  You  think  her  very  proud,  then  ?" 

"  Not  exactly  proud.  She  has  a  great  deal  of  self- 
respect.  Perhaps  rather  more  personal  dignity  than  most 
girls  of  her  age.  She  suffered  much  pain — experienced 
great  misfortune — in  earlier  days,  which  perhaps  has  added 
to  her  self-respect,  and  possibly  makes  her  a  little  dis- 
tant with  strangers.  Those  who  knew  her  best  love  her 
most," 

"I  know  it,"  said  Cuthbert,  "  I  mean  the  affection  ol 


144  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

Mr.  Vernon  and  yourself  is  obvious  enough — and  I  pre- 
sume none  know  her  better  than  yourselves." 

"  And  none  whom  she  loves  better — at  least  we  hope  so. 
We  could  never  part  with  Grace  now." 

The  young  man's  countenance  fell,  and  then  brightened, 
again  at  this.  There  was  comfort  as  well  as  depression  in 
what  he  had  heard.  He  stood  in  silence  for  a  moment,  and 
then  made  a  coup  in  the  way  of  revenge. 

"Is  it  quite  impossible  that  such  a  catastrophe  may 
occur  through  the  voluntary  action  of  Miss  Yernon  ?" 

"  Or  through  that  of  Miss  Grazebrook,  you  would  say," 
cried  Grace,  the  rosy  betrayer  rushing  to  her  cheek  again. 
"It's  not  fair  of  you,  Mr.  Boynton,  after  extorting  so  much 
of  my  confidence." 

"Pardon,"  besought  Cuthbert  with  contrition,  "one 
question  more,  and  I'll  submit  to  any  penance  you  have 
the  heart  to  impose.  Do  you  know  of  any  reason  why 
your  friend  should  not  be  free  to — to — " 

"  There,  I'll  come  to  your  relief  and  shame  you  by  my 
generosity.  Do  I  know  of  any  reason  why  Nelly  should 
not  receive  the  addresses  of  any  gentleman  who  is  worthy 
to  offer  them  ?     No,  none.     Will  that  do  ?" 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  and — " 

"  And  vou'll  remember  that  my  grace  was  bountiful." 

"Indeed,  I  shall." 


CHAPTER  xym. 


CALUMNY  lives  in  republics  as  well  as fn  monarchies. 
We  do  not  escape  it  by  changing  a  King  for  a  Presi- 
dent. Rather  the  reverse ;  for  among  the  other  privileges 
claimed  under  the  latter,  that  of  making  free  with  our 
neighbor's  good  name  is  by  no  means  to  be  omitted.  And 
it  is  a  curious  feature  of  Republican  society,  that,  while  in 
its  hatred  of  hereditary  distinctions  it  refuses  to  honor  a 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  145 

man  for  the  heroic  deeds  of  his  ancestor,  it  insists  on  pun- 
ishing him  for  that  ancestor's  weaknesses  or  crimes.  The 
sins  of  the  father  are  visited  on  the  children  here  with  a 
vengeance.  Whatever  may  be  due  to  the  defects  or  the 
merits  of  our  Puritanical  heritage,  it  is  undeniable  that 
there  exists  among  us  a  very  strong  bias  for  detraction. 
This  partly  arises  from  the  absence  of  standards.  It  is 
also  stimulated  by  the  preposterous  claim  of  our  newspa- 
pers to  abuse  everybody  and  everything  under  the  cry  of 
freedom.  Our  Press,  unhappily,  has  been  too  much  under 
the  control  of  men  who,  entirely  blackened  and  disgraced 
themselves,  have  been  seldom  happy  unless  hard  at  work 
begriming  and  traducing  all  who  come  within  their  sphere, 
that  none  may  be  distinguished  as  being  above  their  own 
dirty  level.  It  is  true  that  this  is  an  evil  which  offers  the 
consolation  of  most  others,  namely,  that  it  will  ultimately 
correct  itself  But  it  is  no  less,  while  it  lasts,  a  social  ble- 
mish— a  blot  on  the  national  character.  "We  claim  theore- 
tically to  judge  and  to  value  individuals  for  themselves 
alone  ;  but  practically  we  persecute  and  underrate  them  for 
the  misdeeds,  real  or  imaginary,  of  all  who  are  connected 
with  them.  The  fruits  of  such  a  system  are  too  manifest 
to  require  more  than  suggestion.  They  lead  people  to 
strive  not  so  much  to  he  better  as  to  seem  so.  They  point 
their  moral  at  last  in  the  Spartan  creed  which  teaches  "not 
to  leave  undone,  but  keep  unknown." 

Take  the  most  common  of  domestic  illustrations — the 
case  of  him  or  her  who  is  so  unfortunate  as  to  have  had  an 
intemperate  father  or  an  erring  mother.  How  does  society 
treat  the  innocent  offender  ?  Does  it  sraoothe  the  path  and 
stretch  a  helping  hand  for  the  unfortunate  who  has  suffered 
so  much  undeserved  trial  and  misery  ?  or  does  it  take 
counsel  of  the  usurer.  Overreach,  to  set  its  foot  upon  and 
trample  on  them  ?  Where  is  the  chivalry  which,  now  we 
have  abolished  Feudal  remedies,  now  that  we  no  longer 
tolerate  the  duello — where  is  the  generosity,  the  manly  feel- 
ing which  should  protect  and  uphold  the  unprotected 
woman,  the  helpless  orphan  ?     Alas  !  the  substitutes  are 

7 


146  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

yet  to  come,  and  the  institutions  are  yet  imperfect  which 
protect  the  person  indeed,  but  leave  the  unarmed  and  de- 
fenceless no  shield  to  ward  the  strokes  of  idle  slander  or 
malignant  venom  at  that  part  most  tender  and  most  pre- 
cious— their  reputation.  Society  treats  those  who,  for  every 
philanthropical  and  physiological  reason,  should  be  treated 
with  the  utmost  leniency,  the  most  delicate  consideration, 
with  a  harshness  and  a  scorn  which  are  the  precise  oppo- 
sites  of  the  sentiments  such  cases  should  justly  elicit. 

Poor  Elinor  Grazebrook  suffered  both  the  misfortunes 
suggested  by  the  illustrations  we  have  cited.  Her  father 
had  been  for  years  notoriously  intemperate.  His  acknow- 
ledged talent  had  only  delayed  and  graduated  the  social 
downfall  his  vice  brought  upon  himself  and  his  family. 
People  care  little  to  cultivate  the  society,  or  propitiate  the 
good  will  of  those  whom  they  see,  by  a  slow  but  certain 
process,  descending  in  position  and  influence  ;  and  there  is 
no  instance  of  such  decadence  more  inevitable  than  that  of 
the  family  of  the  inebriate.  No  need  to  mark  the  down- 
ward steps.  Most  of  us  have  seen  them  often  enough,  and 
know,  if  we  have  not  felt,  their  bitterness.  This  domestic 
calamity  of  itself  was  enough  to  sadden  so  sensitive  a 
spirit  as  that  of  Elinor.  Doubtless  she  inherited  from  the 
nature  which  had  succumbed  in  fighting  the  battle  of  life, 
that  which  made  her  feel  so  acutely  the  consequences  of  his 
fall.  But  then  there  came  the  crowning  blow  to  her  pride, 
the  last  drop  in  her  cup  of  humiliation.  Her  mother  fell, 
and  with  her  honor  was  destroyed,  in  her  daughter's  esti- 
mation, all  hope  of  ever  again  filling  her  proper  niche  in 
society.  Mary  Grazebrook  had  suffered  much  to  palliate 
her  crime,  in  the  eye  of  Heaven  if  not  in  that  of  the 
world,  and  none  knew  this  better  than  Elinor.  The  sick- 
ening horror  of  dragging  on  year  after  year  in  enforced 
and  most  intimate  association  with  a  drunkard ;  the  weary 
ing  alternations  of  brutality  and  imbecility  ;  the  endlessly 
broken  promises  of  amendment  which  the  poor  wretch 
would,  but  perhaps  could  not  keep ;  the  disdainful  pity  of 
the  hard  world :  the  manifold  troubles  and  mortifications 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  147 

arising  from  stinted  means  and  failing  credit — these  are  the 
griefs  often  borne  till  death  comes  with  its  sad  release  to 
one  or  other  of  the  wretched  partners ;  but  which  have 
often  enough  before  Mary  Grazebrook's  time  furnished  the 
stimulus  and  the  excuse  for  crime  such  as  she  was  guilty 
of.  The  idea  which  filled  her  soul  after  ten  years  of  misery 
was  solely  that  of  escape — escape  from  the  wretched  life 
she  had  not  religious  or  moral  strength  longer  to  endure. 
Had  there  been  a  father's,  brother's,  sister's  home  open  to 
receive  her,  she  had  doubtless  sought  refuge  in  it.  But 
there  was  none  such,  and  the  wily  villain  to  whose  arts  she 
succumbed,  knew  well  how  accidental  circumstances  were 
fighting  on  his  side.  His  feeling  towards  her  was  one  of 
all  but  unmixed  animal  passion.  She  was  still  very  hand- 
some, and  had  one  of  those  amply  rounded  figures  which 
present  voluptuous  attractions  to  strong  and  profligate 
natures  such  as  Kirkwood's.  As  might  have  been  expect- 
ed, and  as  has  been  previously  related,  the  man  soon  wea- 
ried of  his  beautiful  mistress.  Before  he  abandoned  her, 
she  had  learned  to  loathe  and  despise  him  with  an  intensity 
of  which  she  had  never  before  thought  herself  capable. 
This  aversion,  which  might  otherwise  have  remained  pas- 
sive, had  grown  into  an  absolute  thirst  for  vengeance,  when 
Kirkwood  in  leaving  her  had  also  deprived  her  of  her 
child.  In  vain  had  she  searched  up  and  down  the  land  to 
punish  the  one  and  recover  the  other.  Kirkwood  carried 
out  his  plans  with  exhaustive  sagacity.  The  little  girl  had 
been  taken  far  down  into  the  beautiful  State  after  which  he 
had  named  her,  and  the  charge  accepted  by  a  half  sister  of 
the  father,  who  told  his  own  story  of  its  origin.  He  then 
made  his  way  to  New  Orleans,  and  took  the  steamer  for 
California. 

Elinor  had  always  felt  compunction  respecting  her  domes- 
tication in  the  family  of  Oliver  Vernon.  Her  acuteness  in 
worldly  matters,  sharpened  by  early  trials  and  sufferings, 
was  at  no  loss  to  teach  her  that  there  were  those  who  would 
regard  the  position  of  Grace  Yernon  as  in  some  sort  com- 
promised by  intimate  relations  with  one  whose  family  was 


148  DANGERFIELD'S   rest  ;    OR 

so  disgraced  as  her  own.  She  felt  that,  whatever  her  own 
misfortunes,  she  had  no  right  to  entail  their  consequences, 
however  remote  or  indirect,  upon  her  guileless  friend. 
However  unmerited  by  any  misdeed  on  her  own  part  were 
the  slights  and  scorns  of  society,  her  innocence  did  not  jus- 
tify her  in  permitting  others  to  share  the  burden.  Such 
were  her  reflections  and  expressed  convictions  when  Oliver 
Vernon  first  came  to  fetch  her  to  Uplands.  The  good 
man  anticipated,  and  was  therefore  prepared  to  combat 
precisely  such  objections.  He  pointed  out  that  few  if  any 
persons  moving  in  the  orbit  of  his  country  home  had  ever 
heard  of  the  disasters  which  were  so  momentous  to  herself. 
Even  if  by  any  chance  there  might  be  such,  his  own  posi- 
tion and  influence  were  not  likely  to  be  challenged  by  the 
offensive  bruiting  of  distasteful  reminiscences.  No  really 
worthy  or  generous  person  would  dream  of  visiting  upon 
her  the  misfortunes  of  her  parents.  It  was,  moreover, 
highly  desirable  that  Grace  should  have  a  companion  of 
something  near  her  own  years  and  tastes — it  was,  in  fact, 
indispensable.  So  far  as  Elinor's  delicacy  was  concerned 
respecting  the  independence  of  her  position,  the  sum  her 
father  had  secured  to  her,  if  not  large,  was  yet  quite  ample 
for  the  needs  of  a  single  young  lady.  These  and  similar 
considerations  had  overborne  the  girl's  scruples,  and 
although  counter  arguments  often  recurred  to  her  mind 
with  painful  effect,  she  had  never  after  her  first  acqui- 
escence seriously  thought  of  them  as  furnishing  grounds  for 
any  prospective  change  in  her  situation. 

Now,  however,  the  case  was  fur  different.  Whatet'cr 
may  have  been  the  original  force  of  Oliver  Vernon's  argu- 
ments or  the  conclusion  which  they  established,  it  was 
clear  that  the  conditions  had  been  transposed  so  as  to 
establish  with  equal  force  a  conclusion  exactly  opposite. 
It  was  now  known — or  certain  soon  to  be — in  the  neigh- 
borhood, who  and  what  Elinor's  father  and  mother  were, 
or  had  been.  The  presence  of  Kirkwood  and  the  myste- 
rious protraction  of  his  visit  at  Dangerfield's  Rest,  together 
with  his  admitted  relation  to  the  child,  Alabama,  appeared 


BEFOKE  THE   STOEM.  *         149 

to  make  publicity  on  these  points  quite  inevitable.  Again : 
the  claim  Kirkwood  set  up  to  the  property  left  by  John 
Grazebrook,  while,  if  resisted,  it  would  lead  to  litigation 
involving  notoriety  damaging  to  all  but  himself,  if  admitted, 
would  leave  Elinor  in  the  position  of  being  utterly  de- 
pendent upon  the  bounty  of  Oliver  Vernon.  In  either 
case  she  would  not  be  justified  in  remaining  at  Uplands. 

So  reasoned  Elinor,  and  the  bitter  struggle  it  cost  her  to 
determine  on  the  action  her  reasoning  confirmed  to  be 
right,  satisfied  her  the  more  that  there  was  but  one  proper 
course  for  her  to  pursue.  She  must  leave  Uplands.  Leave 
the  noble-minded  old  man  she  had  learned  to  love  as  she 
never  had  been  able  to  love  her  father.  Leave  the  warm- 
hearted girl  whom  she  loved  better  than  a  sister.  Leave 
the  sunny  and  beautiful  home  whose  grand  old  trees,  lovely 
views,  pictures  and  books,  bowers  and  shady  walks — even 
the  humble  animals  they  made  pets  of — rose  painfully  to 
her  mind  as  costing  each  so  many  regrets.  Every  one 
employed  about  the  place  was  more  or  less  dear  to  her, 
for  here — and  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  had  been 
truly  happy.  To  quit  the  scene  which  she  had  grown  to 
love  so  fondly  with  all  its  clustering  association  of  objects, 
animate  and  inanimate,  was  to  Elinor  like  going  back  to 
the  past — and  she  looked  back  on  her  sad,  desolate  child- 
hood with  a  shudder. 

Yet  she  must  go.  Even  if  it  did  no  wrong  to  Grace, 
she  could  not  now  remain.  She  had  suffered  deeply 
enough  at  times  from  the  stray  insinuations  or  covered 
sneers  of  vulgar  people  like  the  Von  Donks, — but  those 
times  were  rare,  and  it  was  not  impossible  to  avoid  them. 
How  would  it  be  now,  when  the  knowledge  of  her  mother's 
shame  should  be  rife  on  every  lip,  and  every  finger,  high 
or  low,  be  raised  to  point  her  out  ?  Anything  rather  than 
that.  Better  be  buried  far  away,  deep  down  in  the  quiet 
ground,  than  hear  those  whispers,  than  see  those  levelled 
indices  of  contempt. 

To  go  she  was  resolved.  There  were  two  considerations 
connected  with  her  departure,  upon  each  of  which  she  was 


150      •  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

equally  determined.  Firstly,  as  regarded  the  communi- 
cating of  her  purpose  to  Oliver  and  Grace  Vernon.  She 
was  well  aware  that  they  would  oppose  it  by  every  pos- 
sible argument  and  entreaty.  Scenes  would  occur  which 
were  sure  to  be  inexpressibly  painful  to  all  parties,  and 
which  would  be  productive  of  no  good  whatever.  Elinor 
therefore  resolved  to  depart  without  giving  any  previous 
intimation  of  her  design,  intending  to  forward,  directly 
afterward,  written  explanations  of  her  behavior.  She 
meant  to  entreat  that  she  might  not  be  pursued  or  sought 
out,  but  hoped  by  certain  precautions  to  secure  herself 
from  discovery  in  the  event  of  her  entreaties  being  un- 
heeded. 

The  second  consideration  had  reference  to  the  immediate 
future,  as  well  as  to  what  the  young  girl  regarded  as 
her  career  and  destiny  in  life.  It  was  a  subject  which  had 
long  occupied  her  thoughts,  and  had  been  almost  shaped 
into  purpose  at  the  time  she  came  to  live  at  Uplands. 
The  aspirations  connected  with  it  had  lain  dormant  for  a 
time,  but  they  had  never  been  entirely  extinguished. 
"When  she  lately  commenced  to  persuade  herself  that  duty 
and  self-respect  would  oblige  her  to  leave  Vernon's  pro- 
tecting roof,  those  aspirations  had  rekindled  in  her  heart, 
and  had  prompted  her  to  take  preliminary  measures  such  as 
should  prepare  the  way  for  consummation  when  the  hour 
of  her  departure  should  arrive.  The  measures  taken,  and 
the  consummation  arrived  at,  will  fully  appear  as  we  trace 
Elinor's  adventures  in  the  future. 

"  No  good'll  come  on't." 

This  was  the  opinion,  rather  dogmatically  expressed,  of 
sturdy  David  Greenwood  as  he  sat  drinking  tea  according 
to  his  evening  custom  in  Aunt  Mercy's  own  room.  The 
snowy  cloth,  the  fragrant  beverage,  the  pleasant  fatigue 
that  comes  of  labor  done  and  well  done,  usually  combined 
to  make  these  occasions  the  chosen  ones  for  gossip,  or,  as 
Aunt  Mercy  said,  for  a  bit  of  a  chat. 

"  La  sakes,  Uncle  Dave,  don't  go  on  like  that.     It's  kip- 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  ^  151     _ 

der  fljin'  in  the  face  of  Providence  to  keep  a  prophesyin' 
like  Jeremiah  of  what's  going  to  come  to  pass  in  the  futur'. 
He's  kind  and  gentle  and  every  bit  a  gentleman  if  there 
ever  was  one." 

"  He's  a  nigger  driver,  that's  what  he  is.  Not  that  I'd 
say  any  thing  rily  or  hurtful  of  one  of  the  Squire's  com- 
pany outside.  But  he  aint  nuthin'  more  nor  less  than  a 
nigger  driver.  Of  course  there's  different  kinds.  There's 
good  and  there's  bad,  and  there's  some  sorter  nootral.  I 
dare  say  he's  one  of  the  best  of  the  lot.  Like  enough  he 
don't  skin  men  alive,  nor  brand  'em  with  red-hot  irons, 
nor  chase  'em  with  bloodhounds  ;  but  it's  the  same  cryin' 
old  iniquity.  He  ha'n't  got  no  business  ownin'  of  'em 
at  all." 

"  Well  now  supposin'  he  hasn't,  he's  got  'em,  ha'n't  he  ? 
And  he  aint  goin'  to  give  'em  up,  is  he  ?  And  isn't  it 
better,  if  they  must  be  in  bondage,  for  the  colored  folks 
to  be  treated  like  Christians,  as  Mr.  Boynton  most  likely 
treats  his,  than  to  be  tortered  and  worried  like  so  many 
wild  beasts  ?" 

"  Wall,  I  don't  know  as  it  is.  Aunt  Massy.  If  they 
ought  to  have  their  freedom,  p'raps  the  treatment  which 
would  stimerlate  'em  to  stick  up  for't  would  be  best  in 
the  long;  run.  These  here  slaveholders  have  all  but  ruined 
the  country  our  fathers  fit  for,  and  I've  no  likin'  for  'em 
any  how.  If  it  weren't  for  the  Paddies  we'd  a  run 
'em  out  o'  power  long  ago,  but  the  day'll  come  yet  I 
reckoD." 

"  If  there's  wrong  done,  the  Lord'll  avenge  it,  Uncle 
Dave.  Any  how,  Mr.  Boynton  aint  responsible  for  Sla- 
very, is  he  ?  He  didn't  bring  the  colored  folks  from 
Afriky,  did  he  ?  They  were  here  all  ready  to  his  hand 
left  to  him  by  his  father,  most  likely,  and  what's  he  to  do 
but  treat  'em  as  well  as  he  knows  how  ?" 

"  The  Lord  helps  them  as  helps  themselves,  Aunt  Massy. 
I  reckon  he  don't  intervene  directly,  but  through  chosen 
instruments,  makin'  'em  gradooaly  git  wiser  and  better  so's 
to  be  fit  for  the  work.     It's  true  the  Britishers  brought  the 


152  dangekfield's  rest;  or 

niggers  here,  and  our  folks  didn't  want  'era  and  grumbled 
like  sin  about  it,  but  that  don't  make  no  difference.  The 
"wrong's  here  however  it's  brought  about,  and  it's  our  busi- 
ness somehow  to  set  it  right." 

"  Well,  if  Miss  Nelly  marries  this  gentleman  and  goes 
down  South  with  him  she's  sure  to  do  good  there  as  well 
as  any  where's  else.  She  won't  make  things  there  no  worse 
any  way,  and  I  guess  she  can  make  him  do  most  anything 
she  likes." 

"  Yes,  there's  no  mistake,  he's  awful  sweet  on  her  ;  but 
I  tell  you,  Aunt  Massy,  it  aint  the  right  thing  for  our 
Northern  women  to  go  down  there  aidin'  and  abettin'  to 
perpetooate  slavery.  The  feclin'  of  the  world's  agen  it, 
and  goodpeople  everywhere  are  gettin'  more'n  more  sot 
agen  it  every  day.  It'll  have  to  go  under  soon  or  else 
this  country  will, — and  I  don't  think  it's  goin'  to  be  the 
country." 

"  May  be  you're  right,  Uncle  Dave,  but  I  think  people 
ought  to  marry  them  they  take  a  liking  to,  young  or 
old.     We  allers  agreed  on  that,  didn't  we  ?" 

"  Well,  as  a  gineral  rule,  but  then  there's  exceptions. 
Arter  all,  you  don't  even  know  that  Miss  Nelly'll  have  him 
when  he  asks  her." 

"  I  wouldn't  say  I  knew  for  sartain,  that's  a  fact.  She's 
dreadful  quiet-like,  and  don't  talk  much  about  what  she's 
a  thinking  on.  But  I  know  she  likes  him  putty  well,  even 
if  she  aint  fur  gone." 

"  How  d'ye  know,  Aunt  Massy  ?" 

"  Oh !  by  things  you'd  never  think  of  noticin'.  Uncle 
Dave,  cute  as  you  are.  If  she  comes  into  a  room  where 
she  thinks  he  is  and  he  aint,  there's  jest  a  shade  of  disap- 
pintment  in  her  eye ;  and  her  face  kinder  lights  up  when 
he's  talkin'  to  her  in  a  way  I  never  saw  when  she  talked 
to  other  folks  at  home  or  abroad.  Then,  when  his  back's 
turned  (never  when  he's  lookin'  toward  her)  her  glance  fol- 
Icrs  him  about  in  a  curious  studyin'  kind  of  way." 

"Is  them  the  things  folks  do  when  they're  kind  o' 
hankerin'  arter  one  another?" 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  153 

"  They're  signs,  I  reckon.  Most  folks  acts  in  that  way 
more  or  less." 

"  Did  you  ever  do  any  sech  by  any  one  you  cottoned 
to?" 

"Present  company's  allers  excepted.  A  little  more  tea, 
Uncle  Dave  ?  and  more  sugar  than  the  other  ?  Dear  me,  how 
comfortable  it  is  to  get  back  home  again.  I  begin  to  feel 
nateral-like  now  again." 

"  You  didn't  act  quite  nateral  when  you  fust  got  back. 
I  thought  you  was  kinder  spiled  with  foreign  airs  and 
graces ;  but  you're  gitten  round  right  agen  now.  How- 
sumever  I'm  glad  to  get  you  back  at  any  price.  Things 
was  gettin'  rather  rusty  in  your  department." 

"  You  can  say  that  safe  enough.  Sech  shirts  and  sech 
socks  as  yourn  I  never  see  in  all  my  born  days.  I  haint 
got  'em  right  yet.  And  as  to  the  house  it  was  a  sight 
to  be  seen.  Dust  and  dirt  everywheres  from  kitchen  to 
garret.  You  could  write  your  name  with  your  finger  on 
every  wall  in  the  house,  and  as  to  the  curtains,  a  shakin' 
of  'em  was  like  gitten  under  a  land-slide  !" 

"  Didn't  last  long  arter  you  got  here,  Aunt  Massy.  Miss 
Grace  said  you  did  the  work  of  six  the  first  week  you  got 
home." 

" Bless  her  heart !  Shell  have  a  husband  that  even 
you  won't  object  to,  Uncle  David.  And  another  thing, 
it  won't  be  takin'  her  away  from  poor  Squire  Yernon 
altogether.     They'll  be  neighbors  all  their  lives." 

"Mr.  Stephen's  a  very  fine  young  man,  very,  and  I 
don't  see  as  there's  anything  to  hender  his  marryin'  Miss 
Gracy.  His  father,  though,  old  Mart.  Dangerfield  used  to 
be  a  queer  one.  He  lived  a  riotous  life  of  it  up  to 
five  and  forty  years.  There's  a  chap  visitin'  there  now 
I  used  to  see  about  in  them  days,  and  he's  the  only  one  on 
'em  that  ever  comes.  There  used  to  be  a  houseful,  month 
in  and  month  out," 

"  Well,  folks  change  as  they  git  older.  I  dare  say  if  the 
old  gentleman  had  took  a  fancy  to  marry  again  he'd  been 
happier." 

7* 


154  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  Ne'er  a  time.  Look  at  the  Squire  ;  he's  happy  enough, 
ain't  he  ?" 

"  To  be  sure,  but  then  he's  always  had  Miss  Grace.  I 
tell  you,  Uncle  Dave,  it  makes  a  sight  of  difference  when 
there's  always  a  bright  smiling  young  face  a  lightin'  up 
the  house  as  folks  get  stricken  in  years." 

"  That's  a  fact,  aunty,"  said  David,  with  something  like 
a  sigh.  "  I'm  afraid  some  folks  don't  know  what  a  com- 
fort they  miss  in  children  till  they  git  too  old  to  have  'em, 
Talkin'  of  children,  how's  that  ere  colored  woman,  little 
Miss  Ally's  nurse  ?" 

"  She's  pooty  bad,"  replied  Aunt  Mercy,  shaking  her 
head.  "She's  never  had  her  right  mind,  poor  critter, 
since  they  took  her  out  of  the  wreck.  Dr.  Saunders  doesn't 
think  she'll  last  long.  He  says  she  must  have  given  the 
little  one  all  there  was  to  eat — she  was  a  mere  skeleton 
— she  sacrificed  herself,  poor  soul,  that  the  charge  trusted 
to  her  might  live." 

"  And  yet  they  say  the  critters  aint  human  beings,"  said 
David  reflectively.  "  Could  a  Christian  ever  so  white  have 
done  more  ?" 

We  may  say  here  that  the  fears  as  to  the  faithful  Gerty 
were  soon  to  be  sadly  realized.  She  lingered  yet  a  few 
weeks,  kept  up  by  care  and  nursing ;  but  she  sank  ere  the 
family  went  to  town  for  the  winter,  and  her  remains  repose 
among  dust  which  is  no  whiter  in  the  neighboring  village 
churchyard. 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  165 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

a  TRREVOCABLE !" 

X  It  was  the  last  word  he  heard  from  her  lips  for  many 
a  long  da}' ;  the  final  strain  of  that  dear  melody  which  he 
had  hoped  to  listen  to  for  ever.  That  word,  "the  seal 
upon  the  tomb  of  hope,"  ended  with  its  breath  the  fairest 
dream  his  imagination  had  ever  conjured  of  an  earthly 
Heaven.  He  looked  into  the  depths  of  her  beautiful  dark 
eyes  to  see  if  caprice  and  wilfulness  were  not  conspiring  to 
hide  pity  there, — but  he  could  find  ncr  trace  of  such  a 
feeling.  He  lingered  for  a  moment,  knowing  that  reprieve 
is  sweeter  for  being  tardy,  and  unwilling  to  believe  that  the 
gentle  face  where  he  had  read  so  much  of  real  or  fancied 
encouragement  and  sympathy  should  remain  hardened  into 
that  marble  resolution, — but  there  came  no  change.  Then 
Cuthbert  slowly  departed,  leaving  Elinor  in  sole  possession 
of  the  shady  nook  which  had  witnessed  his  ill-starred 
declaration.  Slowly  he  walked  toward  the  mansion,  pon- 
dering as  he  went  on  the  propriety  of  at  once  taking  leave 
of  Uplands,  and, — though  he  snatched  up  a  tiny  lilac  glove, 
and  pressed  a  hasty  kiss  upon  it,  and  thrust  it  in  his  bosom, 
— he  never  looked  behind 

And  Elinor  listened  anxiously, — cautiously  holding  her 
breath  to  make  sure  of  hearing  the  last  faint  sound  of  the 
retreating  footsteps, — and  then  there  came  what  she  had  not 
known  since  the  death  of  her  unhappy  father — a  torrent  of 
bitter  tears. 

"Irrevocable!" 

Has  the  word  sounded  for  you,  Reader,  and  has  it  been 
the  knell  of  such  a  hope  ?  Philosophers  tell  us  that  such 
crtishing  miseries  are  the  lights  and  guide-posts  which  are 
to  bring  us  to  true  wisdom  and  to  the  highest  happiness, 
and  perhaps  they  are  right ;  but  we  draw,  most  of  us, 
slender  consolation  from  such  truths  in  the  first  bitter 
hours  of  affliction.  Cuthbert  did  not,  although  he  attained, 
let  us  hope,  the  average  standard  of  philosophical  equa- 


156  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

nimitj  in  course  of  time.  She  sat  there  that  day  in  a  sort 
of  bower  looking  forth  on  the  distant  mountains,  and  she 
was  musing  on  her  own  future  whose  outlines  were  as 
misty  and  indistinct  as  their  own.  Deeply  absorbed  was 
she,  so  that  Cuthbert  came  upon  her  unperceived.  He 
had  not  quite  resolved  upon  then  and  there  declaring  his 
cherished  passion ;  yet  a  less  impressible  heart  would 
have  grown  weak  and  yielding  in  viewing  such  a 
vision. 

She  was  dressed  in  white  that  day,  with  a  simple  chip 
hat  and  a  lace  mantilla  hanging  carelessly  across  her  arms. 
Her  lovely  gold-brown  hair  gleamed  through  the  net  which 
confined,  while  yielding  to,  its  weight.  The  oval  face,  with 
its  features  so  pure  and  delicate,  was  upturned,  the  dark 
thoughtful  eyes  bent,  as  we  have  said,  upon  the  far-off 
hills.  The  young  man  gazed  in  silent  admiration,  and,  as 
he  gazed,  he  felt  impelled,  all  but  irresistibly,  to  throw 
himself  at  Elinor's  feet  and,  without  preamble,  declare  his 
love,  and  beseech  that  it  might  be  returned.  A  bird  sud- 
denly flashed  across  her  line  of  sight,  crossing,  as  it  flew, 
the  angle  between  that  line  and  the  point  where  Cuthbert 
stood.  Her  eyes  followed  mechanically,  and  fell  on  the 
intruder's  figure.     He  raised  his  hat  and  advanced. 

"  I  would  not  willingly  have  broken  the  spell,  but  being 
discovered,  you  won't  refuse  to  let  me  crave  pardon  for 
disturbing  your  reverie." 

"  My  brown  study  scarcely  deserves  even  that  name,  Mr. 
Boynton  ;  mere  idleness,  almost  inanity.  If  I  had  a 
thought,  it  was  of  yonder  lovely  blue  hills,  and  cou^jling 
the  dimness  of  their  outlines  in  this  hazy  atmosphere,  with 
that  of  our  own  future." 

"I  am  just  about  to  form  a  clear  idea  of  my  own — that 
is,  of  my  immediate  future.  My  stay  in  the  North  has  be'en 
more  extended  than  I  proposed  ;  indeed,  duty  rather  calls 
me  homeward.  I  fear  the  expiration  of  this  week  must 
find  me  on  the  wing." 

"  We  shall  be  sorry  to  lose  you  so  soon.  But  why  fear 
going  home  ?     I  found  it  such  a  relief — such  a  pleasure — 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  157 

to  return  here  after  our  long  sojourn  abroad,  that  I  can  only- 
fancy  people  turning  homewards  with  joj." 

"  Nor  should  I  have  a  different  feeling  if  there  were 
those  whom  I  loved — ^.or  who  loved  me — to  welcome  the 
journey's  end.  Life  is  rather  dull  for  a  bachelor  on  a  cot- 
ton plantation." 

"  But  your  people — the  black  people,  I  mean — are  at- 
tached to  you,  are  they  not?  I  am  sure  you  cannot  be 
other  than  kind  to  them." 

"  Oh  !  yes ;  such  attachment  as  they  are  capable  of.  But 
you  can  readily  believe  that  their  society  is  not  precisely 
all-satisfying.  To  be  sure,  there's  good  hunting  and  fish- 
ing, and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  And  the  gentry  of  the 
neighborhood  are  up  to  the  average.  But  there  is  some- 
thing, or  rather  the  absence  of  something,  which  makes 
the  old  home  wearisome  and  sad  enough." 

"And  that  something  is " 


"  Can't  you  guess — a  wife  I" 

An  awkward  and  bungling  way  truly  to  usher  in  the 
coming  crisis,  but  people  who  are  desperately  in  love 
are  extremely  apt  to  be  awkward  and  bungling.  A  flush 
swept  up  to  Elinor's  brow,  but  she  had  abundance  of 
aplomb  and  self-possession,  and  she  answered  steadily — 

"A  deficiency,  I  should  judge,  which  one  in  your  posi- 
tion might  very  easily  supply." 

"Alas  !  I  may  not  even  estimate  the  difficulty.  I  have 
a  very  strong  case  to  make  up,  but  the  judge  has  not  yet 
heard  the  evidence." 

"You  speak  enigmatically,  Mr.  Boynton,"  said  Elinor 
rising,  "  but  I  presume  I  may  safely  prophesy  that  you  will 
gain  your  cause." 

"  Heaven  knows  how  happy  it  will  make  me  to  do  so  ; 
but  do  not,  do  not  leave  me.  Miss  Grazebrook,"  for  Elinor 
whose  dim  suspicion  of  the  drift  of  the  interview  began  to 
approach  conviction,  had  turned  to  depart.  "  For  Heaven's 
sake  do  not  go  now,  after  such  a  blissful  prediction.  You 
say,"  he  went  on  rapidly,  and  possessing  himself  of  her 
slender  white  hand,  "  that  I  am  to  gain  my  cause.     Is  it 


158  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

possible  that  you  are  ignorant  that  you  are  the  judge  who 
is  to  decide  it  ?" 

"I?  Mr.  Boynton,  I " 

"Nay,  hear  me  out.  You  must  not,  cannot  refuse  to 
hear  all  that  I  have  to  say,  now  that  I  have  said  so  much." 
And  the  floodgates  of  his  passion  once  opened,  the  torrent 
rolled  on,  unrestrained  and  swift. 

"  I  love  you,  dearly,  fondly.  Better  than  I  have  ever 
loved  in  the  past,  better  than  I  shall  ever  love  in  the  future. 
I  have  been  seeking  for  you  ;  indeed  I  have,  for  years,  half 
hopeless,  often,  of  ever  finding  you.  No,  not  romance — 
truth,  God's  truth,  as  I  do  earnestly  believe.  Don't  turn 
away — don't .  say  this  love  of  mine  cannot  be  returned. 
You  can't  know  how  great,  and  strong,  and  fervent  it  is. 
No  one  can  ever  love  you  as  I  love  you.  It  could  not  be. 
Don't,  don't  take  your  hand  away — this  little  hand  I've  so 
often  longed  to  kiss  ;  don't  take  it  from  mine,  or  if  you  do 
let  it  be  to  give  it  again,  and  say  it  may  lie  there  for  ever !" 
And  the  suppliant  was  at  Elinor's  feet,  and  covering  her 
hand  with  the  coveted  kisses. 

"  Pray,  pray  stop  ;  I  beg,  I  entreat, — or  must  I  command 
you,  Mr.  Boynton,  to  desist  ?  Indeed,  indeed  I  had  no 
idea — this  is  so  sudden " 

"  Not  with  me.  It  dates  from  the  first  moment  I  ever 
saw  you,  and  has  only  grown  stronger  with  each  that  has 
succeeded.  There,  I  will  release  your  hand ;  only  give  me 
a  word — a  single  word  of  hope  that  it  shall  be  restored 
once  more — some  time — not  to  be  again  withdrawn." 

"  I  am  so  taken  by  surprise — I •" 

"  You  hesitate !     Can  you  not  speak  that  word  ?" 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Boynton,  with  truth,  I  fear  I  cannot." 

"  Good  Heavens,  luhy  ?  You  are  not  engaged — promised 
— to  another  ;  in  a  word,  you  love  no  one  else  ?" 

"In  your  sense,  I  do  not,"  And  Elinor  slowly  reco- 
vered her  self  possession.  "  I  am  truly  grieved  to  give  you 
pain — but  this  has  been  so  hasty — a  step  for  which  I  am  so 
wholly  unprepared " 

"  I  see !  I  see  !"  he  interrupted,  eagerly  catching  at  the 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  159 

most  favorable  implication.  "  You  require  time  to  re- 
flect, to  arrange  your  thoughts,  to  be  reconciled  to  change, 
but  you  don't  positively  reject '' 

"  'Tis  best  to  be  explicit  and  candid  from  the  outset,  Mr. 
Boynton,"  said  Elinor,  in  a  grave,  sad  voice.  "  That  is  the 
precise  construction  you  are  to  put  upon  my  words." 

"  No,  no,  no  !  For  Heaven's  sake  do  not  say  that.  Say 
that  you  cannot  love  me  now  as  a  wife  should,  and  as  you 
can,  but  that  you  may  do  so  hereafter.  Say  that  there 
are  difficulties — family  matters — whose  importance  you 
exaggerate,  but  which  my  strong  love  may  surmount.  Say 
that  your  guardian  is  bent  upon  some  other  union  for  you, 
and  you  dislike  running  counter  to  his  wishes.  Say  any- 
thing but  that  you  absolutely — hopelessly — reject  me!" 

"But  none  of  these  things  would  be  true,"  said  Elinor, 
calmly. 

"How!" 

"  It  would  be  untrue,"  and  her  voice  shook  a  little,  "  to 
say  that  I  cannot  love  you  now,  but  may  hereafter.  It 
would  be  untrue  to  say  that  there  are  reasons — family 
or  other — which  wo  aid  present  insuperable  objections  to 
any  step  of  the  kind  I  might  contemplate.  It  would  be 
untrue  to  say  that  Mr.  Vernon  would  desire  any  union  for 
me  which  was  not  in  the  fullest  sense  agreeable  to  myself. 
But  yet  I  cannot  marry  you," 

"  Am  I  then  so  distasteful  to  you  ?"  said  the  young 
man  bitterly. 

Her  face  was  averted  at  the  moment  he  asked  the  ques- 
tion, and  had  it  not  been  it  is  probable  Cuthbert  would  not 
have  seen  the  expression  whicb  would  have  made  his  heart 
leap  for  joy  to  interpret.  It  was  one  of  ineffable  tender- 
ness— a  feeling  of  which  she  strove  to  suppress  any  trace  in 
her  voice  as  she  answered. 

"  To  say  so  would  be  as  untrue  as  the  other." 

Cuthbert  gave  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and  pleasure, 
and  then  reflected  for  a  moment.  He  could  think  well 
and  rapidly  enough  on  most  subjects,  why  not  on  this 
to  him  most  important  one  ?     Presently  he  spoke,  and  his 


160  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

voice  was  musical  with  a  hope  which  was  mingled  with 
chivalrous  deference  and  deprecation : — 

"  You  will  permit  me  to  allude  to  a  subject  necessarily 
rather  a  delicate  one  ?" 

She  bowed  in  acquiescence.     "  Go  on.     I  listen." 

"You  are  proud — I  mean  in  a  certain  way — more  so 
than  most  of  your  sex  perhaps.  I  can  imagine  that  pride 
as  sometimes  leading  you  to  extremes — possibly  in  con- 
nexion with  social  relations.  You  are  not  likely  to  relish 
the  acceptance  of  aught  which,  in  the  most  fastidious  sense, 
you  might  conceive  yourself  unable  to  bestow.  I  am  not 
ignorant  of~of  the  undeserved  pain  you  have  suffered 
from  certain  family  misfortunes.  The  attitude  in  which 
I  have  placed  myself  precludes,  I  trust,  the  need  of  expla- 
nation on  such  a  subject  so  far  as  I  am  concerned; — 
but  you,  may  I  ask  if  your  decision  is  affected  by  such 
considerations  ?" 

"I  will  answer  that,"  said  Elinor,  with  dignity,  "and 
frankly,  although  the  discussion  is  perhaps  unnecessary. 
My  reply  is,  distinctly  not.  It  might  be  in  the  case  of 
a  man  in  any  sense  my  inferior,  not  in  that  of  a  man  in 
every  sense  my  equal.  I  repudiate  and  despise  the  prac- 
tical injustice  of  society  which  would  visit  the  sin  of  the 
parent  upon  the  innocent  child.  Of  course  whatever 
disabilities  or  contumely  the  world  may  choose  to  impose, 
an  individual  cannot  in  his  weakness  escape ;  but  the  soul 
cannot  be  compelled  to  acquiesce  in  the  decision  or  to  cease 
protesting  against  its  injustice." 

"I  honor  the  sentiment,  even  if,  in  its  utterance,  the 
slender  hope  I  had  cherished  be  shaken,"  said  the  young 
man  sadly.  "But  Miss  Grazebrook,  nay, — Elinor, — you 
will  forgive  the  name  if  it  be  for  the  last  as  well  as  the  first 
time, — do  not  say  that  you  really  meant  to  deprive  me  of 
every  hope.  Leave  me,"  he  pursued  with  strong  emotion 
as  he  saw  her  growing  agitation,  "leave  me  the  merest 
shadow  of  doubt  which  shall  save  me  from  utter  despair. 
You  may  yet  change  your  resolution  !" 

"  I  implore  you  not  to — to  press  me  further.     I  grieve, 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  161 

indeed — indeed  I  do !  To  inflict  the  pain  hurts  me  more 
than  you, — but  it  cannot, — can  never  be  otherwise.  My 
resolution  is — •" 

"  No,  no  !     Do  not  say  it!     Do  not — " 

"  Irrevocable  /" 

And  when  she  again  looked  up,  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


CLIMAXES  are  contagious.  The  day  which  saw  Cuth- 
bert  Boynton's  departure  from  Uplands,  saw  Stephen 
Dangerfield  the  happy  and  accepted  suitor  of  fair  Grace 
Yernon.  Stephen  had  brought  himself  to  the  duty  point 
at  last,  and  in  making  out  his  case  to  Oliver  Vernon,  he 
had  unreservedly  communicated  the  facts,  so  far  as  he 
knew  them,  relating  to  the  mortgage  on  his  ancestral  acres. 
He  narrated  how  he  had  at  first  determined, — feeling  it  im- 
possible to  be  with  Grace  and  not  declare  his  attachment, 
— to  abstain  altogether  from  visiting  her  home  ;  how  that, 
on  reflection,  he  saw  the  expediency  of  taking  the  advice 
of  a  calm  and  wise  counsellor  upon  the  question  of  Kirk- 
wood's  revelation,  which,  in  fact,  was  his  object  in  trans- 
gressing his  original  resolution  ;  and  how  that,  in  the  se- 
quel, he  had  been  so  irresistibly  impelled  to  behave  as  he 
had  done,  etc.,  etc.  Vernon  looked  ver}^  grave  on  hearing 
of  Kirkwood's  connexion  with  the  mortgage  and  of  his 
domiciliation  at  Dangerfield's  Rest. 

"  As  to  money,  my  dear  Stephen,"  he  afl&rmed,  "  Grace 
will  have  enough  for  both  if  need  be,  and  where  her  hap- 
piness is  at  stake  the  subject  is  one  of  the  smallest  consi- 
deration. But  that  so  fine  a  landed  property,  to  which  your 
family  name  has  been  so  long  attached,  should  pass  from 
your  hands  is  more  serious.  It  might  perhaps  be  in  my 
power  to  purchase  this  mortgage, — not  in  your  favor,"  con- 
tinued he,  smiling,  as  he  saw  Stephen's  gesture  of  refusal, 


162  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

"  but  in  that  of  Grace's  children.  To  what  does  Mr.  Dan- 
gerlicld  state  the  incumbrance  to  amount  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  I  have  had  no  discussion  with  my  father  on 
the  subject.  The  sole  knowledge  I  possess  is  derived  from 
the  holder,  Mr.  Kirk  wood.  I  judged  from  my  father's 
manner  at  a  time  when  he  knew  the  information  was  given 
me,  and,  indeed,  ever  since,  that  the  story  was  correct. 
The  total,  Kirkwood  alleged  to  be  in  the  neighborhood 
of  eighty  thousand  dollars." 

"  Have  you  seen  the  instrument  yourself  ?" 

"  Not  as  yet.     I  hardly  thought  it  necessary." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  are  scarcely  qualified  as  a  man  of 
business.  You,  at  least,  know  whether  it  is  properly  re- 
corded in  the  county  office  ?" 

Stephen  was  obliged  to  confess  his  ignorance  upon  this 
point  also. 

"In  fine,  then,"  said  Vernon,  laughing  heartily,  "you 
have  absolutely  no  evidence  that  such  a  bond  was  ever 
executed,  or  that  it  exists  at  all,  except  the  equivocal  testi- 
mony of  Mr.  James  Kirkwood.  I  say  '  equivocal,'  advi- 
sedly. I  have  known  the  man  and  his  career  for  years, 
and  his  relation  to  the  business  is  of  itself  sufficient  to  jus- 
tify suspicion." 

"  I  perceive  I  have  been  very  careless  and  neglectful," 
said  Stephen,  with  some  confusion,  "  but  you  know  my 
excuse,  sir." 

"  Aye,  and  how  to  make  due  allowances,"  replied  Ver- 
non, "  but  really  these  are  points  which  should  be  cleared 
up  at  once." 

"  I  fear  we  shall  find  little  comfort  in  investigation.  My 
poor  father  is  weak  and  ill,  but  he  certainly  would  never 
allow  me  to  be  made  the  victim  of  so  aimless  a  deception 
as  this  would  be." 

"  Has  Kirkwood  had  any  dealings  with  Mr.  Dangerfield 
for  any  length  of  time — I  mean  dealings  of  which  you 
were  cognizant  ?" 

"  I  gathered  previously  that  he  had  for  a  term  of  years 
been  in  the  receipt  of  considerable  sums  of  money  from 


BEFORE  THE  STORM,  163 

my  father.     Why,  or  wherefore,  I  could  not  divine.     He 
has  been  absent  for  several  years  from  the  Atlantic  States." 

"And  now  he  comes  here,  takes  up  his  abode  under 
your  roof,  and  sets  up  the  claim  that  he  is  the  possessor 
of  a  mortgage  upon  it  to  an  extent  nearly  equalling  its 
entire  value  !" 

"Precisely." 

"^And  did  it  never  strike  you  that  there  might  be  some- 
thing wrong  in  all  this  ?" 

"  Very  forcibly.  It  was  my  expressed  determination  to 
force  an  explanation,  in  fact,  which  elicited,  for  my  satis- 
faction, the  statement  about  the  mortgage." 
,  Vernon  mused  for  a  few  moments.  He  did  not  believe 
in  the  existence  of  a  hona-fide  mortgage  on  Dangerfield's 
Kest  at  all ;  but  he  was  at  a  loss  to  penetrate  the  motive 
which  should  induce  Kirkwood  to  make  the  misrepresen- 
tation, or  that  which  led  Martin  Dangerfield  himself  to 
acquiesce  in  it. 

"Your  first  step  is  clear,"  he  finally  said ;  "  it  is  to  ascer- 
tain quietly  whether  such  an  instrument  is  on  record  in  the 
proper  registry — and  afterwards,  whether  it  be  recorded  or 
not,  it  will  be  well  to  ask  to  see  the  original  paper,  which, 
of  course,  must  be  presumed  to  be  in  Kirk  wood's  posses- 
sion. Once  satisfied  as  to  the  fact,  you  can  resolve  what 
course  to  pursue  in  the  premises  for  the  future." 

The  next  morning  Stephen  rode  forth  as  usual  in  the 
direction  of  Uplands.  But  he  struck  off  to  the  right 
shortly  before  coming  up  with  the  familiar  lodge,  and  gal- 
loped some  half-dozen  miles  to  the  town  which  contained 
the  County  Buildings.  "With  little  time  and  trouble  he 
was  enabled  to  inspect  the  registers  wherein  mortgages  on 
real  property  are  recorded,  and  to  discover  that  Vernon's 
suspicions  were  j  ustified  by  the  fact ;  there  was  no  incum- 
brance whatever  standing  against  the  lands  known  as  The 
Rest,  and  a  careful  search  failed  to  detect  the  slightest  evi- 
dence that  there  ever  had  been  such. 

The  young  man's  indignation  on  making  this  discovery 


164  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

was  bj  no  means  less  because  it  was  palpably  owing  to  liis 
own  negligence  that  it  had  been  a  tardy  one.  He  had 
chafed  impatiently  under  the  protracted  infliction  of  Kirk- 
wood's  presence,  and  barely  restrained  the  outward  expres- 
sion of  his  annoyance  in  deference  to  his  father.  He  was 
now  more  anxious  to  be  rid  of  the  unwelcome  guest  than 
ever.  It  was  proper  to  acquaint  his  father  with  the  fact 
of  his  engagement  to  Grace  Vernon,  and  family  intercourse 
would  naturally  and  properly  ensue,  which,  in  all  probabi- 
lity, would  bring  each  of  the  visitors  at  the  two  houses, 
respectively,  in  contact  with  each  other.  Oliver  Vernon 
had  foreseen  this  dilemma,  as  the  reader  is  aware,  but  had 
thouglit  of  it  in  relation  to  other  embarrassing  juxtaposi- 
tions. His  plan  had  been  simple  enough  before  his  late 
explanation  with  Stephen.  Knowing  Kirkwood  to  be 
thoroughly  mercenary,  he  had  proposed  to  himself  to  make 
it  well  worth  the  man's  while  to  absent  himself  altogether 
fi'om  that  part  of  the  country,  and  he  then  had  no  doubt 
in  succeeding,  and  at  a  moderate  cost.  Now,  however,  the 
case  was  essentially  different.  Whether  the  claim  set  up 
by  Kirkwood  was  just  or  unjust,  he  had  asserted  and 
obviously  meant  to  adhere  to  and  profit  by  it.  He  had  a 
hold  of  some  sort  upon  Martin  Dangerfield,  the  value  of 
which  he  rated  at  eighty  thousand  dollars,  and  no  paltry 
sum  was  likely,  under  such  circumstances,  to  induce  him 
to  forego  any  advantages,  direct  or  collateral,  which  that 
hold  could  enforce. 

Stephen  rode  straight  home,  with  his  head  full  of  the 
significant  discovery  he  had  made.  Yesterday  at  the  same 
hour  he  would  scarcely  have  resisted  going  over  to  Up- 
lands before  returning,  but  there  had  been  great  changes 
since  yesterday.  The  sweet  half-hour  he  had  passed  with 
Grace,  after  his  interview  with  her  father,  had  put  the  seal 
upon  his  happiness,  and,  secure  as  to  the  future,  Stephen 
began  to  reflect  that  he  had  duties  to  perform  in  the  world, 
and  that  he  miglit  as  well  set  about  them.  Not  the  least 
was  that  which  he  owed  to  his  father,  that  he  should  not 
be  made  the  dupe  of  a  designing  schemer,  such  as  he  was 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  165 

now  more  fully  persuaded  than  ever  Kirkwood  really  was. 
It  was  also  a  plain  duty  to  the  family  with  which  he  was  to 
ally  himself,  that  his  own  future  resources  and  expecta- 
tions should  be  not  only  properly  protected,  but  clearly  and 
unequivocally  defined. 

As  to  Kirkwood  and  his  plans,  the  reader  will  have  had 
no  difficulty  in  surmising  that  at  the  time  the  pretension 
was  put  forward  no  such  mortgage  really  existed.  The 
man  had  skilfully  availed  himself  of  accidental  circum- 
stances to  commit  Martin  Dangerfield  to  the  tacit  acknow- 
ledgment of  an  instrument  which  he  proposed  to  draw  up 
thereafter,  and,  watching  a  favorable  opportunity,  to  cajole 
"or  threaten  the  old  man  into  signing.  That  Stephen  would 
one  day  take  the  step  he  had  now  adopted,  Kirkwood  fore- 
saw was  extremely  probable.  That  such  a  step  would  be 
followed  by  a  fresh  explosion,  he  was  well  aware.  When 
such  a  time  arrived,  it  would  be  his  cue  to  employ  all  his 
weapons  for  the  consummation  of  his  main  design.  Ava- 
rice had  now  become  the  strongest  passion  of  his  nature. 
There  were  circumstances  which  might  necessitate  his  hasty 
departure  from  the  country  at  any  moment.  Whether  he 
could  altogether  control  those  circumstances  or  not,  he 
resolved  to  put  himself  speedily  in  possession  of  the  largest 
possible  sum  in  ready  cash.  A  mortgage  on  so  fine  a  pro- 
perty as  Dangerfield's  Rest  could  be  easily  disposed  of  in 
New  York,  and  the  product  invested  in  bills  on  Europe. 
Thus  armed  and  prepared,  he  could  take  flight  whenever 
events  might  make  such  a  course  prudent  or  desirable. 
Au  reste  he  would  make  himself  comfortable  in  his  present 
quarters  as  long  as  possible. 

It  was  high  noon  when  Stephen  arrived  at  the  house, 
and  questioned  the  servant  who  took  his  horse  as  to  the 
whereabouts  of  his  father  and  Mr.  Kirkwood.  They  were 
at  luncheon  in  the  breakfast  room,  and  thither  he  repaired. 
Kirkwood  at  once  perceived  something  unusual  in  the 
young  man's  presenting  himself  at  this  hour,  and  essayed 
to  forewarn  his  companion  of  the  approaching  eclaircisse- 
ment. 


166  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  You  seldom  honor  ns  at  luncheon,  Mr.  Stephen,"  he 
remarked,  affably,  "  and  we  should  appreciate  the  excep- 
tions like  the  angels'  visits.  The  pleasure  of  a  glass  of 
wine  ?     Capital  Sherry,  this  !" 

lie  poured  out  a  glass  for  Stephen,  and  held  his  own  up 
lovingly  in  the  sunlight. 

Stephen  waved  aside  the  proffered  courtesy,  and  plunged 
abruptly  into  his  subject. 

"  I  have  been  at ,  the  county  town,  and  I  have  been 

looking  through  the  books  at  the  Register's  office.  Per- 
haps you  will  be  good  enough  to  inform  me  why  it  is  that 
the  mortgage  you  claim  to  hold  on  this  property  is  not  pro- 
perly and  formally  registered  there  ?" 

"I  could  have  spared  you  the  trouble  of  your  journey," 
said  Kirkwood,  sipping  his  wine  with  calm  enjoyment, 
"  had  you  given  me  the  opportunity  to  do  so.  As  it  is, 
your  question  had  better  be  addressed  to  your  father." 

The  old  man  looked  at  his  tormentor  imploringly,  and 
then  turned  to  the  inquiring  face  of  his  son. 

''  You  know  you  have  never  asked  me  in  relation  to  this 
business,  Stephen,"  he  went  on,  in  a  hesitating  and  embar- 
rassed voice,  "else  I  might  have  told  you  that  as  no  mort- 
gage yet  existed,  such  an  instrument  would  not  of  course 
be  registered." 

"Yet!"  cried  Stephen  impatiently,  "  2/^<  existed  ?  Your 
friend  here  assured  me  that  it  did  exist,  and  had  for  years 
existed !" 

"  Morally,  my  dear  Mr.  Stephen — morally,  if  not  abso- 
lutely. I  did  not  imagine  that  a  man  of  your  nice  sense  of 
honor  would  feel  disposed  to  claim  any  distinction,  more 
especially  as  it  would  make  no  difference  if  you  did." 

"  Sparc  your  sneers,  sir.  Am  I  to  look  to  you  for  expla- 
nation of  this  new  mystery,  or  will  my  father  vouchsafe 
it?" 

"  Whichever  you  please,"  replied  Kirkwood.  "  It  cannot 
possibly  signify  to  me,  since  whatever  I  have  done  or  left 
undone  in  the  premises  has  been  dictated  solely  by  con- 
sideration for-  the  dignity  and  honor  of  your  family.     Its 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  167 

head  can  tell  you,  if  he  likes,  that  he  executed  a  formal 
undertaking  to  render  me  this  mortgage  whenever  I  should 
exact  it,  and  that  I  have  been  willing  to  postpone  that 
exaction  for  his  credit  and  pride's  sake.  But  when  you 
assume  a  belligerent  attitude — an  attitude  which  points  to, 
if  it  does  not  quite  threaten  the  depriving  me  of  my  rights 
— I  am  clearly  obliged  to  declare  and  maintain  them." 

"  1  prefer,  sir,"  said  Stephen  haughtily,  "  after  what  has 
passed  between  us,  to  receive  my  information  from  my 
father  himself.  Perhaps  you  will  tell  me,  sir — "  turning  to 
Mr.  Dangerfield,  ''if  what  this  gentleman  says  is  true?" 

A  flush  came  darkling  over  the  face  of  Kirkwood  such 
as  those  who  knew  him  best  in  old  times  had  learned  to 
dread — but  the  old  man  was  gazing  tenderly  at  his  boy. 

"True?"  he  echoed  feebly,  "true?  Oh,  my  son,  how 
can  I — "  he  stared  about  as  if  looking  for  help  and  his 
eye  fell  on  Kirkwood's — "  my  son — my  poor  Stephen — 
it — it  is  true  /"  and  he  poured  some  wine  with  shaking 
hand  into  a  tumbler,  drained  it  off,  and  clasped  his  hands 
again  as  if  in  utter  helplessness, 

Stephen  gazed  upon  him  with  a  strange  blending  of  doubt 
and  dismay.  "  Father,"  he  cried  suddenly,  "  there  is  some 
coercion  here  ;  something  troublesome — dangerous  per- 
haps— with  which  you  do  not  trust  me.  Speak  !  let  there 
be  entire  candor  between  us,  and — "  looking  defiantly  at 
Kirkwood,  "we  will  see  who  shall  dare  to  threaten  or 
control  you !" 

"Tush,  Stephen  Dangerfield,  don't  try  that  tone  with 
me — don't  take  such  pains,  as  'Kichard'  says,  to  curse 
yourself  Not  but  that  candor  has  its  value,  or  that  it  shall 
be  my  fault  if  it  be  not  employed  to  the  full.  Speak,  my 
old  friend,  and  satisfy  this  incredulous  son  of  yours — or 
shall  I  do  it  for  you?  Shall  I  tell  him  of  all  the  little 
intricacies  and  mazes  of  our  past  history?  Shall  I  tell 
him  that  you — " 

"  No,  no,  no !"  cried  the  old  man.  "  For  God's  sake, 
no.  Anything  but  that.  What  do  you  want  me  to  do? 
In  Heaven's  name  let  us  end  this  miserable  scene." 


168  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"I  ask  for  nothing  that  is  not  reasonable  and  just," 
answered  Kirkwood  sullenly.  *'  If  there  is  anything  un- 
pleasant it  is  not  I  who  have  brought  it  about.  You  concede 
the  justice  of  my  demand.  End  discussion  by  complying 
with  it  at  once.  This  I  have  a  distinct  right  to  expect. 
The  mortgage  is  prepared — I  will  bring  it  here  directly — 
you  can  sign  and  a  couple  of  the  servants  can  witness 
it.     Do  you  agree?" 

"  I — I — do  agree." 

"No,  Father!"   burst  forth  passionately  from  Stephen. 

"  Be  cautious,"  said  Kirkwood,  with  a  gloomy  smile, 
and  with  this  admonition,  which  might  have  been  intended 
for  either  or  both  his  companions,  he  left  the  room. 

The  old  man  looked  on  his  son  with  an  expression 
of  intense  pain  and  solicitude.  Stephen  came  up  and  took 
his  withered  hand,  and  kissed  his  wrinkled  forehead. 

"  Don't  mind  for  me,  father.  I  can  stand  it  well  enough 
if  it  must  be.  It  is  for  you  I  am  anxious.  I  cannot  tell 
what  horrible  power  it  is  which  binds  you  to  this  man ; 
but  if—" 

"  Hush,  my  son,"  whispered  the  other,  nervously,  "you 
must  not  anger  him.  Indeed,  indeed,  you  must  not.  It  is 
hard  you  should  be  the  sufferer — you  who  are  so  innocent. 
Heaven  help  me — I  would  do  all  for  the  best — but  what  to 
do  I  know  not." 

"  Leave  all  to  me,"  urged  Stephen,  eagerly,  "  let  me 
settle  with  him.  I'll  promise  to  be  cool — not  to  lose 
my  temper.  I  will  propose  time  for  consideration,  and 
we  can  take  advice  as  to  the  course — the  best  course — to 
pursue !"  • 

"  No — no.  There  must  be  no  others  admitted  into  the 
affair.  Witnesses  only  testify  to  a  signature.  But  how 
can  I  do  it?     How  can  I  do  it?" 

His  words  and  manner  almost  indicated  imbecility,  and 
his  son  grasped  for  a  moment  at  the  idea  that  he  was  really 
not  responsible,  and  that  by  some  means  Kirkwood  was 
making  him  the  victim  of  a  craftily  constructed  delusion. 

"  You  are  not  well,  father — not  fit  to  transact  business — 


BEFORE   THE    STORM.  169 

this  is   too   much   for  you.     At  least  postpone   it   until 
to-morrow." 

"We  must  do  as  he  wishes — we  must  do  as  he  wishes." 

"  Not  with  my  will,"  said  Stephen,  indignantly,  "  I  feel 
convinced  that  this  is  an  imposition  ; — tell  me,  at  all  events 
— did  you  receive  from  this  man  the  consideration  he 
alleges  he  furnished — the  sum  of  money  in  question  ?" 

"  You  must  not  ask — hush — he  is  here." 

The  door  re-opened,  and  Kirkwood  returned. 

"  I  have  brought  the  mortgage.  We  will  settle  this 
matter  at  once.  The  coachman  and  housekeeper  will 
be  here  presently  to  witness  the  signatures." 

"  One  moment,  sir,"  interposed  Stephen,  "  my  father  is 
manifestly  very  unwell.  Whatever  the  merits  of  this 
question,  he  is  certainly  unfit  to  enter  upon  them  at  present. 
Let  it  be  put  off  for  a  day,  or  until  his  mind  and  body  are 
in  more  suitable  condition." 

"  Unwell !  stuff!" — the  barbarous  portion  of  Kirkwood's 
nature  always  grew  prominent  with  opposition,  "  he  has 
only  to  sign  his  name — no  great  physical  or  mental  effort 
required  for  that,  I  suppose." 

"  But  for  the  consideration  necessary  to  arrive  at  a  con- 
clusion— " 

"  That  be  d — d!  He's  had  fifteen  years — time  enough 
in  all  conscience — " 

"  The  formality  of  the  instrument — " 

"I  am  a  practising  Attorney  of  the  New  York  Courts 
— not  yet  thrown  over  the  bar — if  the  instrument  satisfies 
?ne,  you  have  no  cause  to  complain.  Here  are  pen  and  ink,  ■ 
Dangerfield.     Shall  I  call  in  the  witnesses  ?" 

The  old  man  took  the  mortgage  and  ran  his  eye  over  the 
writing.  He  took  up  the  pen  and  toyed  with  it  mechani- 
cally for  a  moment.  Suddenly  he  looked  up,  and  there 
was  a  new  though  transient  gleam  of  resolution  in  his  eye. 

"Look  you,  James  Kirkwood,  you  have  often  threatened 
to  drive  me  to  the  wall,  and  now  it  appears  you're  deter- 
mined to  try  it.  Be  it  so.  A  man  who  has  borne  what  I 
have,  can  bear  the  rest.     Do  your  worst.     This  place  has 


170  DANGERFIELD's  rest  ;   OR 

been  ours  more  than  two  hundred  years.  I  will  not  sign 
away  my  poor  boy's  land.  I  will  not  sign  away  the 
heritage  of  the  last  living  Dangerfield !'' 

"Oh!  you  won't,  won't  you?"  roared  Kirkwood,  now 
thoroughly  enraged ;  "you  won't?  By  G — d  I  think  you 
will !  And  you  expect  me  to  give  up  the  hard  earnings 
of  a  lifetime — fifteen  years  waited  for — because  you  choose 
to  try  to  play  the  cheat !  Think  a  moment — what  will  the 
two  hundred  years  of  honorable  name  be  worth  when  it 
ends  in  such  a  one  as  yours  ?  Do  you  flatter  yourself  I'll 
forbear  ?  That  I'll  consent  to  give  up  all  without  a  blow, 
because  you've  become  a  foolish,  swindling  old  dotard? 
I'll " 

Possibly  the  speaker  repented  his  last  words  as  soon  as 
he  uttered  them,  but  he  certainly  did  the  moment  after,  for 
Stephen  caught  up  his  untasted  glass,  and  in  a  twinkling 
dashed  its  contents  full  in  his  face.  Kirkwood  uttered  a 
yell  like  a  wild  animal,  thrust  his  hand  in  his  breast,  and 
made  a  quick  step  towards  his  assailant.  Then  with  a  pro- 
digious effort  he  checked  himself,  and  with  his  pocket- 
handkerchief  wiped  the  wine  from  his  face.  Martin  Dan- 
gerfield sat  still,  quite  paralysed,  apparently,  with  appre- 
hension. Presently  Kirkwood  spoke — softly,  but  through 
his  set  teeth : — 

"  I  could  throw  you  out  of  that  window,  if  I  liked — but 
I  won't.  I  could  make  you  with  a  word  crawl  at  my  feet, 
and  beg  my  pardon — but  I'll  postpone  that  pleasure  for  the 
present.  Eemember,  I  only  postpone  it.  As  for  you,  Mar- 
tin Dangerfield,  you  see  I  can  control  myself  to  do  you  a 
service;  I  shall  expect  you  to  be  grateful  to  me,  if  for 
nothing  else,  for  sparing  this  quarrelsome  cub  of  yours !" 

Stephen,  silent  and  pale,  but  with  flashing  eyes,  made  as 
if  to  throw  himself  upon  his  insulter,  but  his  father  hastily 
rose,  and,  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  he  spoke, 
and  this  time  his  voice  was  firm  and  clear : — 

"  Hold,  Stephen  !  Hold,  I  request — I  command  you ! 
This  gentleman  is  my  guest,  whoever  or  whatever  else  he 
may  be.     I  will  have  no  more  violence.     That  which  pro- 


BEFORE   THE   STORM,  171 

yoked  it  rests  henceforth  between  my  guest  and  myself — 
those  whom  it  more  immediately  concerns.  I  demand  that 
you  as  my  son  shall  interfere  no  further  in  any  shape  or 
form  with  this  business.  Should  you  do  so,  it  will  pro- 
voke a  rupture  between  us,  and  do  yourself  only  a  greater 
harm.  You  do  well,  Kirkwood,  to  speak  of  my  name — 
my  honorable  name — I  had  forgotten  that,  perhaps.  Suf- 
fice it  you  shall  be  satisfied  in  the  fullest  sense.  No  need 
of  further  difference  between  us.  Stephen,  remember  my 
injunction."  So  saying,  Martin  Dangerfield  sank  back 
exhausted  into  his  chair, 

"  Enough,"  said  Stephen  sadly.  "  Be  it  as  you  will,  my 
father.  But  I  will  not  stay  to  witness  or  countenance  by 
my  presence  that  which  I  believe  to  be  a  nefarious  wrong. 
For  a  time  I  leave  you.  As  for  this  person,"  and  he  thi'ew 
upon  Kirkwood  a  look  of  unutterable-  scorn,  "  we  may 
meet  again  when  he  is  neither  armed  with  bug-a-boo  threats, 
nor  protected  by  my  father's  commands.  When  this  place 
is  relieved  of  his  presence  I  shall  be  glad  to  return  to  it 
once  more." 

He  turned  on  his  heel,  heedless  of  Kirkwood's  mocking 
smile,  and  after  a  hasty  direction  to  a  servant,  was  in  the 
saddle  again.  Black  Vixen  well  knew  the  road,  and  soon 
bore  him  to  that  consolation  which  he  prized  as  the  sweeter, 
inasmuch  as  he  felt  that  for  some  time  after  it  would  not  be 
renewed. 

A  little  week,  and  the  happy  circle  which  had  crossed 
the  sea  together  to  reunite  at  sunny  Uplands,  was  scattered 
far  and  wide,  with  rivers  and  mountains  between  those  who 
had  composed  it. 

Cuthbert  Boynton  was  seeking  oblivion  for  the  past,  if 
not  enjoyment  for  the  present,  among  his  books,  dogs, 
guns,  and  slaves,  on  the  far-off  plantation.  His  head  was 
too  clear  and  his  nature  too  noble  to  permit  him  to  under- 
rate the  calamity  which  had  befallen  him.  In  his  love  for 
Elinor  he  was  thoroughly  in  earnest.  He  was  not  one  of 
those  men  of  whom  you  can  predict  in  advance  that  if 


172  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

rejected  by  one  woman  they  will  straightway  make  love  to 
another.  His  grief  was  manly  and  sincere,  and  such  a  con- 
solation was  the  last  he  was  likely  to  seek  for.  Nor  was  he 
vain  enough  to  solace  himself  with  the  thought — which, 
however,  would  have  been  well  founded — that  Elinor  in 
reality  reciprocated  his  affection  ;  for,  when  he  had  gone  as 
far  as  his  delicacy  would  allow  in  endeavoring  to  penetrate 
the  cause  of  his  rejection,  he  did  not  permit  himself  to 
believe  that  it  was  due  to  anything  more  occult  than  the 
lady's  inability  to  love  him. 

Eobert  Eliot  did  not  linger  at  Uplands  after  the  depar- 
ture of  the  Southerner.  He  had  sketched  out  for  himself 
a  considerable  tour  of  observation  and  travel  wherewith  he 
proposed  to  fill  the  time  until  his  promised  visit  to  Boyn- 
ton  at  mid- winter.  The  main  objects  which  led  him  to 
cross  the  Atlantic  were  not  likely  to  be  much  subserved  by 
a  lengthy  sojourn  among  scenes  which,  however  attractive, 
were  yet  so  much  like  those  of  the  English  home  he  had 
quitted  as  to  present  no  features  particularly  novel  or  sugges- 
tive. And  it  may  be  remarked,  that  the  same  observation, 
he  found,  could  be.  truthfully  applied  to  many  places  and 
persons  in  a  degree  for  which  the  perusal  of  most  travels 
in,  and  descriptions  of  America,  by  his  countrymen,  had  by 
no  means  prepared  him.  Nor  was  the  circumstance  alto- 
gether to  be  regarded  as  due  to  a  want  of  candor  on  the 
part  of  those  writers,  notwithstanding  so  many  have  earned 
and  deserve  plentiful  credit  for  such  a  deficiency  ;  for  the 
changes  ascribable  to  rapid  increase  of  wealth  and  popula- 
tion, and  which  have  so  marked  a  tendency  to  smoothe 
rough  angles  and  soften  provincialisms  in  a  new  country, 
were  accumulating  at  a  rate  hitherto  unprecedented. 

Stephen  Dangerfield  accompanied  Eliot  to  New  York, 
the  two  young  men  agreeing  to  spend  a  few  days  together 
prior  to  entering  upon  their  new  plans.  Stephen's,  it  must 
be  confessed,  were  indefinite  enough,  but  they  included  a 
resolve  not  to  return  permanently  to  The  Eest  while  Kirk- 
wood  remained  an  inmate  there.  Directly  after  his  arrival 
at  the  city,  he  received  an  affectionate  letter  from  his  father 


BEFORE   THE   STOEM.  173 

wherein  the  latter  spoke  vaguely  of  the  difficulties  sur- 
rounding his  path,  and  forcibly  repeated  his  injunction  that 
his  son  should  in  no  manner  interfere  with,  or  seek  to 
penetrate  the  mystery  connected  with  his  affairs  with  Kirk- 
wood  on  pain  of  his  serious  displeasure, — adding  that  all 
would  be  cleared  up  to  Stephen's  satisfaction  in  the 
future. 

Oliver  Vernon,  meanwhile,  pursued  his  peaceful  studies, 
his  alms-giving,  and  his  improvements,  happy  in  the  soci- 
ety of  his  books,  and  in  the  love  of  all  who  surrounded 
or  approached  him.  The  little  waif  he  had  picked  up  on 
the  ocean  engaged  much  of  his  care  and  attention.  Her 
infant  nature  was  growing  and  expanding  under  the  genial 
influences  at  Uplands,  and  throwing  out  tendrils  which 
were  daily  clasping  closer  around  the  hearts  of  all  the 
household.  The  death  of  poor  Gerty,  her  nurse,  bitterly 
mourned  as  it  was,  had  severed  the  last  link  which  con- 
nected the  child  with  the  past — and  she  naturally  sought 
consolation  and  happiness  of  the  new  friends  whom  Provi- 
dence had  raised  up  around  her.  Yernon  became  more 
anxious  that  the  neighborhood  should  be  rid  of  the  pre- 
sence of  the  father  as  the  child  became  more  dear  to  him, 
and  Stephen's  recital  of  the  scene  which  took  place  on  the 
day  of  his  departure,  gave  him  additional  reason  for  re- 
garding the  future  with  solicitude.  He  was  not  yet  clear, 
however,  as  to  the  wisest  course  to  pursue  in  the  matter, 
and  pending  this  uncertainty,  he  contented  himself  with 
watching  cautiously  to  guard  against  whatever  evil  might 
be  threatened, 

Alabama,  too,  while  roaming  up  and  down  the  fields 
with  Grace,  plucking  wild  flowers  and  finding  pretty  views, 
had  once  or  twice,  when  close  to  the  northern  boundaries 
of  the  estate,  caught  glimpses  of  a  dark,  sinister  face  peering 
curiously  at  her  through  the  bushes ;  which  fact  having 
been  represented  to  Vernon,  led  to  an  interdict  on  the  ram- 
bles in  that  direction,  and  a  suggestion  as  to  the  propriety 
of  confining  voyages  of  discovery  to  the  south  and  east- 
ward thereafter.     There  could  be  no  certainty  as  to  what 


174  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

a  man  like  that  might  venture  to  do,  and  while  he  haunted 
the  vicinity  they  could  not  be  over  cautious. 

Old  Martin  Dangerfield  returned  to  his  dull,  torpid  man- 
ner of  life,  speaking  little,  grieving  much  in  secret,  and 
scarcely  showing  vitality  save  when  watching  or  bickering 
with  the  intruder  who  had  made  himself  so  galling  an  in- 
cubus on  his  failing  existence.  Once  or  twice  when  yearn- 
ing for  the  presence  of  his  son,  he  strove  to  persuade  Kirk- 
wood  to  leave  him  in  peace  :  but  the  latter  always  insisted 
on  the  condition  which  the  old  man  still  managed  to  retain 
obstinacy  enough  to  refuse.  Then  would  come  a  repetition 
of  the  old  threats,  but  their  edge  was  somewhat  dulled  by 
use,  inasmuch  as  Dangerfield  had  grown  to  appreciate  in 
its  full  force  the  fact  which  Kirkwood  had  always  shrewdly 
understood,  namely,  that  to  ruin  the  victim  might  only 
prove  a  barren  vengeance  which  by  no  means  would  insure 
the  possession  of  the  spoil. 

Aunt  Mercy  and  David  Greenwood  led  on  their  smooth 
unchequered  lives,  ending  their  daily  toil  with  customary 
gossip  and  speculations  domestic  and  political,  winding 
slowly  down  their  hill  of  earthly  being,  but  apparently 
approaching  no  nearer  what  is  sometimes  called  the  goal 
of  earthly  happiness.  They  took  small  "  note  of  time 
even  from  its  loss,"  and  seemed  to  think  that  wedlock  at 
three  score  and  ten  was  more  likely  to  bring  felicity  than 
at  any  less  mature  epoch  of  existence. 

Not  so  thought  Stephen  and  Grace,  who  regarded  the 
year  which  had  been  stipulated  by  Yernon  to  elapse  be- 
tween the  date  of  their  engagement  and  that  of  its  con- 
summation, as  a  chasm  little  short  of  eternity,  and  to  be  as 
tediously  bridged.  Such  a  space  Yernon  thought  desir- 
able as  confirming  beyond  mistake  or  caprice  the  existence 
of  an  attachment  which  was  to  be  life-long,  and  as  being 
likely  to  bring  about  a  revolution  in  Stephen's  affairs  which 
should  define  and  establish  his  worldly  position. 

As  for  poor  Elinor,  her  days  were  waxing  very  sad,  for 
they  were  darkened  and  embittered  by  a  more  than  double 
grief.    She  felt  that  approach  of  despair  so  familiar  to  those 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  175 

who  have  learned  to  believe  that  their  current  of  duty  is 
for  ever  destined  to  run  counter  to  that  of  their  happiness — 
and  who  therefore  see  in .  living  on  only  a  constant  recur- 
rence of  pain  and  disappointment.  Most  women  in  her 
place  would  surely  have  availed  of  the  refuge  so  lately 
offered  her  to  be  so  firmly  refused,  and  well  she  knew  she 
could  love  her  rejected  suitor  as  she  should  never  love  ano- 
.  ther ;  but  here  she  had  been  met  by  the  warning  voice  of 
conscientious  conviction,  whose  prohibition  could  not  be 
tampered  with  or  gainsaid. 

The  epoch  was  approaching  when,  as  her  plan  was,  she 
should  cut  loose  from  the  dear  ties  of  friendship  and  of  love 
which  had  proved  so  long  her  comfort,  her  happiness,  and 
more  recently,  her  consolation.  The  family  were  to  go  to 
town  for  a  period  during  early  winter,  and  she  was  to  pay 
a  brief  visit  to  one  of  her  few  relations — a  sister  of  her  late 
father,  residing  in  an  adjacent  suburb.  None  but  Elinor 
herself  knew  that  from  that  visit  she  had  resolved  not  to 
return  to  the  bosom  of  the  little  family  which  had  so  loved 
and  cherished  her,  but  to  go  forth  by  a  perilous  stream,  to 
face  the  billows  and  buffet  the  storms  of  the  rude  ocean  of 
life — alone. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


STEPHEN  DANGERFIELD  and  Robert  Eliot  strolled 
into  Broadway,  and  from  thence  diverged  towards  the 
precincts  lying  riverwards,  until  they  had  entered  upon 
one  of  the  fruitful  and  odorous  vicinages  known  as  "  tene- 
ment neighborhoods."  The  time  was  drawing  nigh  for 
some  municipal  election,  as  was  abundantly  demonstrated 
by  the  placarded  walls.  Gorgeous  in  yellow,  green,  and 
red,  appeared  the  names  and  claims  of  the  rival  candidates. 
Here  were  they  admonished  to  "  Vote  for  O'Gorrill,"  there 
directed  to  "  Rally  for  Shaughnessy."     On  one  hand,  the 


176  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

merits  of  "  Gustav  Poppenheimer  "  were  profusely  insisted 
upon  ;  while  upon  the  other,  in  periods  equally  copious, 
were  blazoned  the  praises  of  "  Adolph  Schwarzenbergen." 
It  was  difficult  indeed  to  find  a  name  of  Anglo-Saxon 
origin,  such  was  the  avalanche  of  cognomens  Milesian  and 
Teutonic,  but  an  approach  to  one  was  discerned  at  last  in  a 
flaming  announcement  that  the  ''  Honorable  Lysander 
Kole "  would  speak  at  the  Cooper  Institute  that  evening. 
Even  this  exception  was  explained  by  Dangerfield,  assur- 
ing his  wondering  companion  that  "  Lysander  Kole,"  an 
adroit  but  utterly  unscrupulous  demagogue,  had  so  man- 
aged as  to  attach  to  his  interest  nearly  the  whole  Irish  vote 
of  the  town,  chiefly,  of  course,  by  flattering  its  grossest 
ignorance,  and  pampering  its  most  ignoble  prejudices. 
This  man  in  truth  was  the  high  priest,  the  Magnus  Apollo 
of  the  McSwindle  faction,  and  perennially  expounded  the 
sublime  principles  flowing  from  that  worthy's  cardinal  and 
cherished  maxim — "  Shtick  to  the  Dimocratic  Parthy,  and 
kape  down  the  nagur." 

"  And  here  are  the  forces,"  said  Eliot,  "  which  control 
and  govern  this  great  cit3^" 

"  Precisely,"  answered  his  companion  ;  "  they  gather  here 
and  acquire  force  by  concentration,  which  they  would  not 
have  if  diffused  over  our  "Western  territory.  Thousands 
can  neither  read  nor  write.  Hundreds  vote  before  they 
have  been  a  month  in  the  country.  At  such  points  as  this, 
where  the  suffrage  should  be  most  carefully  guarded,  it  is 
most  shamefully  abused  ;  on  the  other  hand,  there  are 
States  where  the  suffrage  might  be  vinqualified  and  univer- 
sal, and  no  harm  done,  but  in  which  the  opposite  policy 
still  maintains  itself  Such  a  State  is  Rhode  Island  ;  there, 
the  men  who  own  the  State  govern  the  State." 

"  Such  a  condition  as  this,"  remarked  Eliot,  "cannot  last 
for  ever.  Your  people  have  been  so  busy  in  acquiring  pro- 
perty as  to  ignore  the  necessity  for  protecting  it.  The 
knowledge  will  come  in  time,  and  the  same  energy  they 
have  devoted  to  acquisition  will  be  given  to  conservation 
and  protection." 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  177 

"  I  liope  SO,"  said  Stephen ;  "  as  an  American,  I  hope  so. 
There  isn't  much  to  choose  between  mob  law  and  despot- 
ism ;  but  the  latter,  at  least,  is  most  orderly.  The  chil- 
dren of  these  people  learn  to  read,  and  there's  some  hope 
in  that." 

"  Even  that  may  have  its  dangers,  if  they  are  to  draw 
their  social  and  political  pabulum  from  the  *  Orier^  the 
*  Yalioo^  and  the  '' Renegade! s  JournaV  But  do  not  the 
better  informed  of  these  new-comers  perceive  the  objec- 
tions to  throwing  unaccustomed  power  and  responsibility 
into  the  hands  of  the  least  enlightened?" 

"  Of  course  they  do.  None  know  better  than  educated 
Irishmen  that  the  lower  class  of  their  own  countrymen  are 
utterly  unfit  to  vote.  But  you  see  the  temptation  to  stifle 
that  knowledge,  and  to  avail  themselves  of  the  existing 
order  of  things,  is  too  great  to  be  resisted." 

"  Still,  the  evil  will  ultimately  cure  itself.  Your  popula- 
tion will  speedily  be  developed,  so  that  any  possible  immi- 
gration must  bear  a  small  and  constantly  decreasing  ratio 
to  the  yearly  average  of  persons  born  on  the  soil.  This, 
with  your  free  schools,  will  modify  matters  in  a  marked 
degree." 

"Perhaps  it  may,  and  we  count  very  much  on  those 
chances.  But  the  Irish,  particularly,  are  a  most  stubborn, 
clannish,  and  prejudiced  race.  The  ideas  which  bad  men 
for  vile  purposes  have  impressed  upon  their  ignorance  may 
remain  in  scarcely  diminished  force  with  their  more  enlight- 
ened descendants.  Thus  they  have  been  most  sedulously 
taught  to  hate  and  revile  the  Negro.  It  is  believed  by 
many  of  the  wisest  among  us  that  this  feeling  has  acquired 
ineradicable  depth  and  bitterness.  Now,  if  this  postulate 
be  well  found,  it  follows  that,  unless  Slavery  is  to  continue 
for  ever,  there  will  be,  some  time  or  another,  a  terrible  col- 
lision." 

"Why  should  there  be?  The  country  is  surely  large 
enough  for  all,  and  the  negroes,  for  the  most  part,  are  in  one 
section,  the  Irish  in  the  other." 

"  Because  no  such  comfortable  view  of  the  future  is  per- 

8* 


178  dangerfield's  rest  •  or 

mitted  by  the  Lysander  Koles  and  McSwindles,  who  do 
the  dirty  work  for  the  Southern  oligarchs.  No,  the  Irish 
have  been  trained  to  believe  that  the  emancipation  of  the 
blacks  would  be  instantly  followed  by  a  rush  to  the  North 
on  their  part  in  such  numbers  as  to  glut  the  labor  market, 
and  to  take  the  bread  from  the  mouths  of  white  men. 
Nothing  can  persuade  them  that  climate,  organization, 
preference,  or  legislative  prohibition  even,  would  prevent 
such  an  incredible  exodus.  Therefore  they  hate  the  colored 
people  in  advance  as  prospective  rivals  and  depreciators 
of  wages.  This  hatred  absolutely  takes  the  form  of  a 
burning  passion.  The  Irish  laborer  hates  the  negro  better 
than  he  loves  liberty.  I  firmly  believe  he  would  rather 
be  himself  disfranchised  than  see  the  black  men  free. 
Listen !" 

The  gentlemen  had  overtaken  two  sons  of  the  Emerald 
Isle  who  preceded  them  on  the  pave^  and  Stephen  Danger- 
field  had  lowered  his  voice  as  they  were  in  the  act  of 
passing.  The  men  had  the  flinty  shelving  brows,  pro- 
truding, gorilla-like  lower  face,  low  stature,  and  brawny 
shoulders,  common  to  their  type,  and  naturally  enough, 
were  discussing  politics.  One  had  apparently  been  in  the 
country  for  some  time,  and  the  other  was  obviously  a  late 
arrival.  The  latter  was  questioning  his  more  experienced 
friend  as  to  the  distinction  between  the  principal  political 
parties : — 

"  Jimmy,  what's  the  difference  atwixt  'em  onyhow  ?" 

"  Begad,"  quoth  the  Mentor,  "  sure  one  of  'em  wants  to 
kape  the  nagurs  as  they  are,  and  the  other  ivants  to  make 
tJiem  aqual  to  the  likes  ofusP^ 

The  hearty  execration  which  followed  this  singular 
elucidation,  and  which  was  shared  by  both  speakers,  was 
unequivocal  as  demonstrating  the  horror  they  entertained 
of  a  levelling  process  so  monstrous  and  so  unjustifiable. 

"Strange,"  mused  Eobert  Eliot,  "strange;  that  the 
descendants  of  men  who  have  made  Europe  ring  with 
groans  and  cries  of  oppression  ever  since  their  banner  fell 
at   Athlone,    at    Galway,  and    at    Limerick,    should    be 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  179 

staunchest  in  persecuting  and  holding  down  a  race  no  less 
innocent  than  their  own,  and  certainly  more  inoffensive." 

The  two  friends  quickened  their  pace,  for,  as  thej 
penetrated  further  into  the  region  of  tenements,  the  sights 
and  sounds  were  even  less  attractive  than  at  its  outskirts. 
Piles  of  garbage  in  the  sun  offended  the  senses  on 
every  side,  and  the  squalor  of  the  myriads  who  swarmed 
in  and  out  of  the  houses  was  even  more  distressing. 
Stephen  began  to  be  quite  ashamed  of  the  great  city  as 
he  marked  the  effect  which  this  portion  of  it  produced 
on  his  companion,  and  was  not  sorry  when  a  lumbering 
omnibus — albeit  neither  so  cleanly  nor  so  fleet  as  a  Hansom 
cab — enabled  them  to  quit  this  Slough  of  Despond  rather 
more  rapidly  than  they  had  entered  it.  They  soon  returned 
to  their  hotel  to  dress,  for  after  several  days  of  anxious 
expectancy,  Stephen  had  received  a  little  note  which  made 
him  flush  with  gratification,  and  Eliot  had  no  dif&culty  in 
guessing  a  portion  of  its  contents,  when  his  friend  advised 
him  that  they  were  by  no  means  to  omit  repairing  that 
night  to  the  Opera. 

There  needs  no  profound  theorizing  in  the  doctrine  of 
correspondences  to  show  the  relation  which  exists  between 
political  and  physical  corruption.  Show  a  philosopher 
fair  specimens  of  the  classes  who  dominate  the  great 
city  of  New  York,  and  he  would  scarcely  need  other 
demonstration  to  acquaint  him  that  the  bulk  of  its 
streets  and  purlieus  are  as  foul  and  noisome  as  the  rabble 
who  rule  them.  It  is  not  alone  that  they  suffer  less 
from  filth,  or  that  the  men  they  put  in  office  filch  the  ap- 
propriations which  should  remove  it,  but  that  they  would 
be  positively  unhappy  if  deprived  of  its  atmosphere.  Ig- 
norance and  crime  seek  dirt  as  they  do  darkness,  and  light 
and  cleanliness  are  equally  unlovely  in  their  eyes.  They, 
therefore,  insist  on  consummating  the  greatest  happiness 
of  the  greatest  number  by  devoting  the  city  to  a  chronic 
reek  of  foulness  and  abomination.  Their  little  children 
would   grow   up   to  forsake   the  political   creed   of  their 


180  uangerfield's  rest  ;  GR 

fathers  if  too  much  of  what  they  saw  about  them  were 
clean  and  undefiled  ;  it  becomes,  therefore,  a  political 
necessity,  in  a  manner,  to  avert  such  a  positive  cala- 
mity. 

The  same  social  conditions  and  proclivities  which  encou- 
rage pigs  in  cabins  encourage  muck  heaps  in  crowded 
streets.  It  is  too  much  to  expect  complete  revolution  in 
such  a  taste  as  the  work  of  a  day.  No  doubt  the  effect  of 
association  in  sights  and  smells  it  is,  which  strikes  tenderly 
on  the  imagination  of  the  immigrant,  and  prompts  him  to 
prefer  the  city  to  the  prairie.  As  the  numbers  increase, 
the  evil  becomes  more  hopeless ;  for  who  can  expect  these 
cultivated  and  benevolent  beings  to  vote  against  that  which 
they  love  so  well  ? 

New  York,  a  water-shed  of  an  island,  flanked  by  two 
broad  rivers,  and  washed  on  all  sides  by  tide-water, — New 
York  a  dozen  miles  long,  and  scarce  a  sixth  of  the  distance 
in  mean  width,— New  York,  with  a  supply  of  fresh  water 
unequalled  by  any  city  of  either  hemisphere, — New  York, 
with  facilities,  in  a  word,  for  drainage  and  cleanliness  un- 
surpassed and  unsurpassable, — is  yet,  by  shameless  mis- 
government  and  peculation,  the  filthiest  city  in  the  civil- 
ized world. 

Of  what  use  are  mere  names  if  we  are  never  to  get  any 
of  the  substances  ?  Are  we  freemen  here  in  New  York 
because  we  habitually  submit  to  the  despotic  sway  of  an 
illiterate  and  unscrupulous  mob  ?  Do  we  show  our  love 
of  country  by  giving  it  up  to  the  rule  of  the  unclean,  the 
vicious,  the  off-scouring  of  nations,  whose  fathers,  so  far 
from  striking  a  blow  in  aid  of  our  independence,  were 
never  yet  able  to  achieve  their  own  ? 

Open  your  gates,  0  men  of  America,  to  the  oppressed,  the 
poor,  and  the  heart-stricken  of  all  races  and  climes.  Give 
them  of  your  plenty,  crown  them  with  your  abundance. 
Let  them  fill  your  illimitable  plains,  and  raise  cattle 
and  corn  in  your  boundless  prairies.  Build  for  them  pub- 
lic schools  without  number,  that  their  little  ones  may  come 
in  and  be  instructed,  without  money  and  without  price. 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  181 

Grant  tliem  liberty  to  ^t  up  their  churches  and  colleges 
that  they  may  worship  and  instruct  as  they  list.  Concede 
all  this  and  more,  without  stint ;  but  do  not  let  them  wrest 
altogether  from  you  the  government  of  the  high  places 
your  ancestors  shed  so  much  blood  and  tears  to  the  end 
that  you  might  preserve  them  pure,  virtuous,  and  free.  Do 
not  let  them,  to  your  own  misery,  and  their  own  demorali- 
zation, usurp  privileges  which  neither  they  nor  any  belong- 
ing to  them  ever  took  a  single  step  to  earn.  Do  not,  when 
they  come  to  your  shores  all  raw,  ignorant,  inexperienced, 
permit  them  to  assume  control  over  you,  before  they  have 
demonstrated,  in  any  practical  manner,  their  ability  to 
control  themselves.  Give  them  the  chance  to  think,  the 
opportunity  to  learn,  send  them  to  the  teeming  West ; 
give  them,  each  and  all,  fields  and  meadows  in  plenty,  so 
that  in  a  reasonable  space  they  may  be  cultured  up  to  a 
higher  level,  and  become  really  worthy  of  being  incorpo- 
rated with  a  Nation  of  Freemen. 

For  it  is  not  present  inconvenience  and  mortification 
alone,  but  future  woe  which  your  present  system  of  sloth 
and  unreason  are  doing  so  much  to  nourish  and  develope. 
Political  and  physical  corruptions,  like  all  other  evils,  will 
surely,  if  slowly,  bring  their  own  penalties, — penalties 
which  all  your  arts  and  your  inventions,  your  ingenuity 
and  your  enterprise  may  not  avert  unless  backed  by  the 
vigorous  purification  to  be  wrought  by  your  own  deter- 
mined wills.  Each  abuse  has  its  Nemesis  ;  the  name  of 
the  first  is  Eevolution,  and  that  of  the  second  is  Pestilence. 

Note  by  the  Author. — It  is  only  an  act  of  justice  to  remark  that 
the  last  chapter  was  written  before  the  accession  to  office  of  the 
gentleman  who  became  City  Inspector  in  the  latter  part  of  1863 ; 
since  which  event  much  improvement  has  been  effected  in  that 
department.  Unusual  energy  has  been  exhibited,  some  salutary 
reforms  introduced,  and  altogether,  such  a  change  for  the  better 
brought  about  as  to  lead  to  the  hope  that  the  new  system  may  be  as 
permanent  as  it  is  unprecedented. 


182  dangerfield's  rest;  or 


CHAPTER   XXn. 

IT  waB  the  first  night  of  the  operatic  season.  The 
watering  places  were  empty,  and  the  great  town  hotels 
were  full.  The  scorching  heat  which,  despite  its  two  great 
flanking  rivers,  blisters  New  York  from  June  to  October, 
was  softened  by  autumnal  breezes.  The  up-town  squares 
had  begun  to  exhibit  their  customary  regiments  of  well 
dressed  children  and  their  attendant  bonnes.  The  preten- 
tious carriages  whose  coroneted  panels  attest  the  audacity 
if  not  the  descent  of  so  many  flourishing  traders  were 
once  more  rolling  up  and  down  Fifth  Avenue.  With  the 
returning  tide,  therefore,  the  Janus  Gates  of  the  Academy 
were  once  more  thrown  open  to  make  war  on  the  purses — 
or  ears  of  the  fashionables.  To  believe  the  affiches  was, 
as  usual,  to  believe  that  no  snch  "  array  of  talent"  had 
ever  been  brought  together  as  was  destined  this  year  to 
take  captive  the  refined  appreciation,  the  matured  and 
critical  judgment  of  Manhattan.  Who  could  doubt  it, 
who  would  take  the  trouble  to  look  at  the  names  ?  Was 
not  Furini  for  successive  seasons  the  idol  of  La  Scala? 
Were  not  the  horses  rendered  unnecessary  to  the  carriage 
of  Lazzarino  by  the  enthusiastic  population  of  Rome? 
Was  not  Picaroni  the  great  grand-daughter  of  the  Doge  of 
Venice,  and  had  not  a  tiara  of  diamonds  been  presented 
her  by  Francis  Joseph  at  Wien?  Were  not  the  walls 
of  Naples  plastered  with  the  praises  of  Greasiani,  who 
after  his  pyramidal  success  in  Rigoletlo  rivalled  Garibaldi 
in  the  affections  of  that  volatile  people?  Who  should 
doubt  the  effulgence  of  a  galaxy  whereof  these  glittering 
celebrities  were  the  constituent  stars?  Plainly,  no  one, 
whose  judgment  was  worth  the  having,  and  surely  none  of 
the  scribbling  fraternity  whose  secured  seats  for  the  season 
had  been  so  eligibly  and  comfortably  "  located"  by  the 
adroit  Impresario. 

Moreover,  the  Press  of  the  city  had  been  sagaciously 
"  worked"  in  advance,  especially  through  its  most  venal 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  183 

and  vulgar  representatives.  And  Furini  and  Picaroni  had 
been  chaperoned  bj  the  active  Slymer  to  the  "  palatial 
mansion"  of  a  virtuous  Editor,  where  more  than  a  taste  of 
their  quality  had  been  discussed  in  anticipatory  style  by 
the  elect  thus  permitted  to  steal  a  march  on  the  public. 
For,  in  view  of  the  slipperiness  of  his  social  standing,  that 
particular  functionary  was  apt  to  strengthen  himself  by 
such  props  in  the  way  of  artistic  or  political  celebrity 
as  were  willing  to  lend  their  talents  for  such  a  purpose, 
taking  in  exchange  good  dinners  and  such  public  endorse- 
ment in  time  of  need  as  he  was  able  to  bestow.  Lyrical 
matters  having  a  closer  affiliation  with  the  higher  classes 
than  those  of  the  less  fashionable  theatre,  he  was  wont  to 
take  their  professors  under  his  special  protection  ;  and  the 
attractions  of  his  house  were  enhanced,  as  a  rule,  by  the 
cream  of  all  new-come  warblers  ere  the  Inxury  had  dete- 
riorated through  common  participation. 

However,  it  must  be  confessed  that  there  were  others 
in  the  house  besides  the  Vernons,  and  Elinor  Grrazebrook, 
and  Eobert  Eliot,  who  read  the  names  of  Furini  and 
Picaroni  with  somewhat  of  misgiving.  As  to  Furini,  they 
could  certainly  recal  his  name  at  La  Scala,  and  in  connex- 
ion with  Ernani  and  Lucia;  but  the  recollection  by  no 
means  associated  him  with  the  heroes  of  those  works, 
identifying  him,  on  the  contrary,  with  an  otherwise  reticent 
individual  who  became  very  vigorous  and  demonstrative  in 
the  choruses  and  concerted  pieces.  Moreover,  while  no  one 
could  recollect  having  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Signor 
Greasiani  as  Carlo  Quinio,  there  were  several  who  cherished 
a  vivid  impression  that  he,  Greasiani,  was  no  other  than 
the  obliging  avant  courier  who  precedes  and  announces  the 
advent  of  that  sonorous  monarch.  These  must  be  set 
down  as  of  the  number  of  misfortunes  inseparable  from 
an  age  of  steam  ;  for  even  enterprising  impresarios  cannot 
put  a  protecting  embargo  on  travel,  or  cut  off  the  facilities 
which  bring  and  take  their  exotics  for  the  use  of  the  dear 
public  which  pays  for  them.  And,  albeit  the  calamities 
and  losses  of  operatic  managers  are  proverbial  when  the 


184  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

gates  of  their  temples  are  open,  it  would  seem  they  must 
have  some  mysterious  mode  of  recovery  when  they  are 
shut,  inasmuch  as  they  arc  for  ever  returning  to  the  seduc- 
tive paths  which  they  assure  the  world  have  led  them  to 
"  cureless  ruin."  So  that,  after  all,  the  encouragement  of 
rising  (if  not  risen)  genius  may  be  regarded  as  indirectly 
remunerative  as  it  is  unquestionably  benevolent. 

Notwithstanding  imputations  on  the  possible  calibre  of 
the  principals,  there  was  a  very  fine  house.  And  Robert 
Eliot  remarked  that  although  the  methods  of  subdividing 
the  auditorium  did  not  conduce  to  the  comparative  privacy 
most  esteemed  by  his  countrymen,  and  common  to  Euro- 
pean opera-houses,  yet  that  the  effect  produced  w\as  deci- 
dedly lighter  and  more  imposing. 

There  were  people  of  all  sorts  and  degrees.  Deputations 
from  the  Deddingstones,  the  Skuyduncks,  and  the  Von 
Quoits ;  relays  of  the  very  latest  nouveaux  riches^  looked 
through  or  over  by  the  former  with  placid  contempt.  The 
entire  family  of  Von  Donk  were  there  in  a  most  conspicu- 
ous box,  over  against  the  De  Bugginses.  You  can  hear 
Violetta  squeal,  clear  into  the  parquette — at  intervals,  when 
the  brazen  clangor  will  permit.  There  are  Slymer  and 
Sprigg  going  into  the  Crier  box,  and  there  is  Elias  P.  bow- 
ing and  scraping  to  its  occupants  from  his  orchestra  stall. 
Yonder  sits  Lysander  Kole,  the  demagogue,  who  divides 
his  useful  life  between  out-witting  his  partners  and  stimulat- 
ing the  passions  of  the  rabble  ;  whose  leading  principle 
apparently  is,  that  by  being  the  propagator  of  unbridled 
democracy  leading  to  mob-rule,  he  will  stand  the  best 
chance  for  the  foremost  place  and  the  gratification  of  his 
avowed  ambition,  when  the  mob-rule  brings  its  infallible 
corrector  and  consequent — irresponsible  despotism.  There 
are  also  divers  of  his  following  about  the  lobbies — those  of 
the  well-to-do  class — of  which  there  are  always  some  few 
in  every  faction — with  red  eyes  and  fierce  moustaches, 
chiefly,  and  an  affectation  of  the  Gallic  in  the  cut  of  their 
clothes.  Sporting-men  here  and  there — whom  Eliot  would 
have  called  "  legs  " — scrupulously  dressed,  and  deluding 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  .  185 

themselves  with  the  idea  that  every  man  of  the  world  who 
claps  his  eyes  upon  them  does  not  instantly  know  their 
calling.  A  perfect  sea  of  fair  faces  inside,  radiant  with 
light  and  color.  Gallants  innumerable,  some  unexception- 
able in  evening  costume,  some  in  frock  coats,  colored 
cravats,  and  white  kid-gloves,  and  so  on  through  the  vari- 
ous phases  of  taste  and  ignorance.  Outside  and  overflow- 
ing the  coulisses,  with  piercing  eyes,  aquiline  noses,  oily 
locks,  and  eager  but  appreciative  expressions — a  heavy  cor- 
don of  the  never-failing  operatic  body-guard  in  New  York, 
or  elsewhere — the  deputation  from  the  children  of  Israel. 

The  Opera  was  tolerably  sung,  after  all.  It  is  by  no 
means  certain  that  an  artist  who  has  never  sung  a  I'ole 
before,  will  therefore  sing  it  ill.  Excitement,  ambition, 
and  responsibility  are  potent  agencies,  and,  after  all,  there 
must  be  a  first  time  for  everything. 

The  tenor  was  both  sweet  and  sympathetic,  and,  in  the 
favorite  romanza  of  the  opera,  created  quite  2.  furore.  The 
air  was  one  which  Elinor  had  played  on  the  last  day  before 
the  departure  of  Cuthbert  Boynton,  and  she  remembered 
how  greatly  he  admired  it,  and  with  what  marked  earnest- 
ness he  had  alluded  to  the  sentiment  it  conveyed.  We  are 
apt  in  our  selfishness  to  absorb  and  apply  to  our  own  petty 
cases  all  the  mystery,  the  passion,  the  poetry,  our  ears  and 
imaginations  enable  us  severally  to  extract  from  beautiful 
music ;  and  although  some  may  grow  wise  and  withered 
enough  to  smile  at  this  in  later  life,  there  are  few  to  whom 
the  memory  of  the  days  when  they  could  feel  thus  does 
not  bring  a  soft  if  chastened  pleasure.  It  might  have  been 
the  thought  of  him  who  had  told  her  of  his  love,  and  who 
was  now  far  away,  that  made  Elinor's  eyes  fill  with  tears, 
as  she  listened.  She  looked  very  beautiful  that  night,  and 
it  would  be  idle  to  say  she  was  not  conscious  of  attracting 
a  good  deal  of  attention.  Her  thought  at  the  moment 
implied  as  much,  for  she  was  just  congratulating  herself 
that  the  universal  regard  was  attracted  to  the  stage  where 
the  tenor  was  acknowledging  a  tumultuous  encore,  so  that 
her  own  agitation  might  escape  notice.     Just  then,  a  bustle 


186  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

behind,  and  a  glance  at  blushing  Grace  told  her  whom  to 
expect.  Stephen  Dangerfield  and  Eliot  entered  the  box ; 
and  Oliver  Vernon  said  he  had  something  to  say  to  an  old 
friend  he  espied  among  the  audience,  and,  after  heartily 
greeting  the  young  men,  departed  on  that  mission.  Ste- 
phen and  Grace  were  speedily  absorbed,  and  the  act-drop 
coming  down  directly  after,  threw  upon  Elinor  the  task 
of  entertaining  the  Englishman.  There  was  an  interchange 
of  customary  compliment  and  criticism  for  a  space,  and 
then  a  lull.  Eliot  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then,  low- 
ering his  voice,  and  leaning  over  to  be  slightly  nearer  to 
Elinor,  said : — 

"  I  shall  shortly  go  Southward,  and,  as  you  may  have 
heard  us  arrange,  pay  a  visit  to  Boynton,  Can  I  be  the 
bearer  of  any  message  or — " 

He  paused  abruptly,  for  he  observed  that  her  eyes  were 
suffused  with  tears,  and  her  bosom  violently  agitated. 

"  Good  Heavens !  Miss  Grazebrook !  Ten  thousand  par- 
dons !     What  have  I  done  ?     Shall  I—" 

"  Hush  !"  whispered  Elinor  ;  "  don't  let  it  be  seen.  It  will 
be  over  in  a  moment.  Yes,"  she  went  on  more  steadily 
but  quickly,  as  if  urged  by  an  impulse  she  could  not  con- 
trol. "  Yes,  you  may.  Tell  him  how  much — how  very 
much — I  hope  he  may  be  happy — and  that  I  pray  unceas- 
ingly that  he  may — deserve  to  be  so." 

The  instant  after,  she  reflected  that  she  had  gone  too  far, 
that  her  message  might  be  misconstrued,  and  she  would 
fain  have  retracted  or  modified  it.  Eliot,  too,  seemed 
rather  surprised  at  its  purport. 

"  I  thought,"  he  said,  "  that  is—" 

"  Eliot,  just  lend  me  your  lorgnette,  will  you  ?"  said 
Stephen  Dangerfield  interrupting  ;  "  I  can't  make  out 
across  this  huge  abyss  whether  there's  somebody  vis-a-vis 
I  should  bow  to  or  not."  And  while  Stephen  was  making 
his  observations,  Grace  turned  upon  Eliot  with  a  volley  of 
her  playful  badinage,  and  his  colloquy  with  Elinor  was 
broken  off. 

Stephen's  brow  darkened  as  he  gazed. 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  187 

"I  see,"  he  muttered  half  to  himself,  "some  one  I  know, 
but  whether  to  recognise  him  or  not  is  quite  a  different 
thing,"  For  directly  opposite,  and  looking  steadily  at  the 
box,  he  descried  the  handsome  but  dark  and  ironical  coun- 
tenance of  Kirkwood.  "  What  brings  him  to  New  York, 
I  wonder,"  thought  Stephen ;   "  no  good,  I  may  be  sure." 

As  Kirkwood  detected  his  scrutiny,  he  rose  with  a  shrug 
of  his  square  shoulders,  and  made  for  the  lobby.  Stephen 
excused  himself  hastily  to  his  companions,  and,  saying  he 
would  return  in  a  moment,  quitted  the  box.  Threading 
the  motley  crowd  which  was  pushing  vaguely  about  the 
huge  circle  behind  the  auditorium,  and  barely  answering 
with  a  bow  the  melancholy  salute  of  Gossamer  Von  Donk, 
he  quickly  gained  the  opposite  side  of  the  house.  Eark- 
wood  met  him  with  a  bland  smile  : — 

"  I  rejoice  to  see  that  although  you  have  exiled  yourself 
from  The  Rest,  you  are  not  without  resources  in  the  way 
of  amusement." 

"None,  I  trust,  that  meet  with  your  disapprobation,"  re- 
turned Stephen  sarcastically.  "As  to  my  exile,  you  will 
not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  its  duration  depends  some- 
what on  yourself.  May  I  ask,  without  presumption,  if 
you  have  terminated  your  visit  at  my  father's  house  ?" 

"  For  a  day  or  two  only,"  answered  Kirkwood  affably. 
"Like  yourself,  I  don't  object  to  a  little  variety.  You  do 
wrong  to  absent  yourself  on  my  account.  We  got  on  very 
pleasantly  before." 

"  I  choose  my  own  associates,"  said  Stephen  with  hau- 
teur, "  and  in  the  selection  usually  prefer  them  to  be  gen- 
tlemen." 

The  color  came  slowly  up  to  Kirkwood's  swarthy  cheek. 

"  You  will  find  it  unwise  to  persist  in  affronting  me. 
Better  make  me  what  I  am  not  unwilling  to  remain — your 
friend." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  as  a  threat,  sir  ?" 

"  Not  a  threat — ^simply  a  warning." 

"A  distinction  without  a  difference,  after  what  has  passed 
between  us." 


188  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  You  will  realize  the  difference  in  good  time.  For  old 
acquaintance'  sake,  I  can  wish  no  harm  to  vour  fatlier's 
son." 

"Always  in  riddles,"  answered  Stephen  contemptuously. 
*'  The  secret  of  your  miserable  connexion  with  my  father  I 
know  not,  and  am  enjoined  by  him  not  to  seek  to  unravel 
it.  But  over  me,  at  least,  you  have  no  power.  The  exam- 
ple would  suffice,  if  any  were  needed,  to  induce  me  to  take 
care  that  you  never  shall  have." 

A  strange  smile  flitted  over  Kirkwood's  face,  and  for  a 
moment  there  was  something  like  a  trace  of  compassion 
there. 

"  We  cannot  always  control  our  fate,  however  strong  our 
will."  He  paused  an  instant,  and  then,  with  an  interest 
which  he  strove  not  to  dash  with  malice,  inquired,  "  apropos, 
may  I  ask  if  Mr.  Dangerfield  is  aware  of  the  direction  of 
his  son's  matrimonial  projects  ?" 

"  By  what  right  do  you  ask,  and  to  whom  do  you 
refer?" 

"  By  the  right  merely  of  friendly  solicitude  ;  and  I  refer 
to  what  all  the  world  is  talking  about — your  proposed  alli- 
ance with  Miss  Yernon." 

"  The  right  is  questionable,  and  the  subject  unnecessary 
to  discuss.  Yet,  so  far  as  3^our  question  is  concerned,  the 
answer  is  immaterial,  and  you  are  welcome  to  it ;  he  is  not. 
I  will  add  that  the  scene  wherein  you  bore  so  conspicuous 
a  part,  and  my  subsequent  departure,  led  me  to  postpone  a 
natural  confidence  which  there  exists  not  the  slightest  rea- 
son to  withhold.     What  have  you  to  say  to  this?" 

"  Nothing,"  rejoined  Kirkwood,  with  his  unpleasant 
smile ;  "  unless  to  congratulate,  and  counsel  you  to  enjoy 
yourself  while  you  may." 

"  Your  inference  is  offensive,  sir.  Neither  your  congra 
tulations  nor  advice  are  asked  or  desired  in  such  a  con- 
nexion. Perhaps  you'd  like  me  to  ask  your  consent  or 
endorsement  in  the  matter  !" 

"You  might  do  worse,"  replied  the  other  drily.  "I 
meant  no  indiscretion,  as  you  some  time  may  learn.  When 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  189 

that  time  comes,  you  may  possibly  be  willing  to  solicit  one 
or  both." 

"  Till  then,"  retorted  Stephen,  "let  the  subject  be  dis- 
missed between  us.  It's  one,  be  sure,  in  which  I  brook  no 
meddling,  and  in  which  no  father's  injunction  will  tie  my 
hands  for  the  interloper." 

"  The  exception  might  prove  to  your  disadvantage. 
But  enough.  I  mean  you  kindly.  I  have  borne  more 
from  you  than  is  my  custom  to  endure  in  the  common 
intercourse  of  man  and  man.  Yet  a  little  while  and  you 
will  see  more  than  one  reason  to  be  grateful  for  my  for- 
bearance." 

He  raised  his  hat  as  he  concluded,  with  the  show  of 
courtliness  he  was  fond  of  affecting,  and  passed  on. 

Stephen  reflected.  It  was  impossible  not  to  believe  that 
beneath  this  man's  assumptions  of  friendliness  there  ran  an 
undertone  of  hostility  and  menace.  Men  of  his  stamp 
were  unlikely  to  forget  or  forgive  the  slights  which  may  be 
cast  upon  them,  and  Stephen  knew  that  an  affront  to  the 
person  was  of  the  bitterest  character  in  their  esteem. 
Hence,  he  reasoned,  Kirkwood  must  have  strong  reasons 
to  induce  him  to  play  the  conciliatory,  and  to  strive  so 
hard  to  preserve  the  semblance,  at  least,  of  friendly  rela- 
tions with  himself  What  were  these  motives  ?  Here 
Stephen's  penetration  was  completely  at  fault,  and  the  only 
course  to  be  taken,  consistently  with  the  various  exigencies 
of  his  position,  appeared  to  be  that  which  Vernon  advised 
— to  watch  the  enemy  carefully,  and  await  with  patience 
the  developments  of  time. 

Slymer  and  Sprigg  came  round  to  the  Yon  Donk  box. 
Both  these  gentry  were  of  consequence  to  the  Von  Donks. 
The  former,  albeit  credited  as  rather  a  mauvais  sujet,  yet 
always  contrived  to  have  the  aroma  of  fashion  or  power 
about  him,  and  so  became,  to  that  extent,  a  proper  subject 
for  conciliation.  He  was  constantly  going  back  and  forth 
from  Washington,  where  in  point  of  fact  he  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do,  except  to  gather  gossip  or  coin  scandal  for 


190  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

the  grimy  pages  of  the  Crier.  But  he  always  pretended  to 
be  engaged  in  some  yqvj  mysterious  and  momentous  busi- 
ness, and  the  Von  Donks  were  not  the  only  ones  who 
believed  it.  Slymer  was  very  proud  of  the  recognition  or 
endorsement  of  all  persons  of  note,  of  whatever  profession 
or  calling.  Success  was  his  idol,  and  no  matter  what  the 
avenue  if  A.  or  B,  reached  the  goal.  His  principle  was  to 
employ  his  utmost  sagacity  in  the  selection  of  people  to- 
day of  little  importance,  but  who  to-morrow  may  achieve 
distinction.  To  fasten  himself  on  the  skirts  of  such  per- 
sons, to  perform  little  offices  which  should  insure  a  title  to 
their  gratitude,  became  for  the  time  the  leading  passion 
of  his  life  ;  and  he  generally  succeeded. 

There  was  scarcely  a  man  of  note  in  Europe  or  America 
that  Slymer  did  not  know,  or  with  whom  he  had  not  at 
some  time  established  personal  relations.  When  at  a  loss 
for  other  means  he  would  write  absurd  notes  to  his  pro- 
posed victims,  on  all  manner  of  subjects  which  might  or 
might  not  be  of  general  interest,  but  whereupon  there 
certainly  could  be  no  peculiar  interest  in  common  between 
the  party  addressed  and  himself  These  missives  would 
generally  elicit  replies,  often  brief  and  frigid  enough,  but 
which  answered  Slymer's  purpose.  He  had  become  the 
acquaintance — the  possible  prospective  friend  of  the  great 
man.  His  letter  was  carefully  pasted  in  a  book,  which  the 
tactician  always  travelled  with,  and  always  showed  to  every 
new  acquaintance  as  a  sort  of  guarantee  of  his  own  per- 
sonal dignity  and  importance.  It  was  impossible  to 
look  into  the  book  and  not  perceive  that  Slymer  had  cor- 
responded with  many  highly  distinguished  personages  ; 
therefore  he  must,  to  some  extent,  be  accepted  as  a  distin- 
guished person  himself  Another  of  Slymer's  devices  con- 
sisted in  the  writing  of  newspaper  or  pamphlet  "  letters  " 
to  people  of  high  position,  on  any  favorable  political  or 
literary  provocation,  and  whereby,  without  directly  .saying 
as  much,  he  implied,  with  great  art,  that  he  was  on  terms 
of  cordial  intimacy  with  the  parties  addressed.  As  the 
people  of  high  position  would  usually,  from  good-nature  or 


BEFORE   THE  STORM.  191 

indifference,  omit  the  invidious  task  of  refuting  his  implica- 
tion, Slymer  would  for  the  most  part  carry  off  his  booty 
of  consideration  in  triumph. 

He  was  adroit  in  the  management  of  petty  intrigues  even 
down  into  the  lower  strata  of  every-day  life.  By  becoming 
the  patron  of  certain  photographic  artists  and  music-sellers, 
he  could  always  work  the  small  machinery  which  would 
make  any  given  person  conspicuous  if  not  exactly  the 
fashion.  This,  by  having  very  large  and  glaring  pictures 
of  the  individual  to  be  glorified  in  the  most  conspicuous 
places  in  shop  or  gallery  ;  or  by  having  showy  pieces  of 
music  dedicated  to  him  or  her,  and  making  much  outcry 
and  doing  much  advertising  over  them. 

Especially  with  the  ladies  did  Slymer  strive  to  obtain 
influence  and  establish  position.  He  knew  the  value  of 
social  recognition,  inasmuch  as  in  earlier  life  he  had  outrun 
discretion  and  forfeited  such  as  he  might  normally  have 
claimed. 

Eecovery  was  slow,  but  with  perseverance  and  an.  unri- 
valled epidermis  it  could  not  ultimately  be  other  than  sure. 
That  is,  with  certain  circles.  There  are  others  which  will 
not  be  appeased ;  but  he  accounts  for  this  on  the  assumption 
that  it  was  only  because  his  obnoxious  escapade  terminated  in 
a  miscarriage  instead  of  a  success;  and  this  sounds  so  plausible 
that  most  people  believe  him, — including  the  Von  Donks. 

Personally,  Slymer  was  rather  fortunate,  for  although 
neither  young  nor  handsome,  he  was  affable,  and  engaging 
in  address ;  well  informed  and  cosmopolitan  in  ideas  ;  and 
on  the  whole,  only  needed  to  be  a  trifle  less  loud,  to  be 
unexceptionable  as  an  outside  man  of  breeding. 

Sprigg  had  none  of  these  latter  qualities.  He  was  not 
well  bred,  and  seldom  clean.  There  was  the  bouquet  of  the 
unwashed,  the  Celtic  flavor  of  the  Pewter-Mug  about  him 
as  there  is  about  most  of  the  Crier  people,  for  all  it  sells 
so  many  copies.  It  may  be  assumed  that  these  drawbacks 
were  not  regarded  as  such  by  the  majority  of  those  with 
whom  he  came  in  contact,  and  that  the  exceptions  were 
fain  to  put  up  with   them  for  policy's   sake.     The  Yon 


192  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

Donks  did.  There  would  be  an  election  very  soon,  and 
the  General  expected  to  be  a  candidate. 

The  entrance  of  these  worthies  was,  therefore,  hailed  by 
the  Von  Donk  family  with  as  much  enthusiasm  as  fashion 
permitted  them  to  exhibit,  seated  en  evidence  as  they  were 
in  view  of  what  Sprigg  described  the  next  morning  in  print 
as  "  the  beauty,  the  learning,  and  the  haut-ton  of  our  proud 
city." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  the  new  artists,  Mr. 
Sprigg  ?"  queried  Mrs.  General,  after  the  entrance  greetings 
had  subsided. 

"  Something  better  than  a  succes  d''esiime,^^  quoth  Sprigg, 
oracularly,  "  we  must  see  them  in  something  else  before  we 
can  quite  place  them.'' 

"  Oh,  I  think  Furini  a  perfect  pet,"  piped  Zerlina,  "  he 
sings  beautifully,  and  he  acts  as  well  as  he  sings." 

"  Rare  praise  to  be  deserved  by  a  tenor.  Miss  Von  Donk," 
said  Slymer.  "  The  two  qualities  are  seldom  united.  In- 
deed so  far  as  my  experience  goes,  there's  no  one  now  but 
Mario  who  can  be  said  to  have  combined  them  in  perfec- 
tion, and  his  voice  is  going." 

"  \V hat  d'ye  think  of  Heydensucker's  speech,  Mr.  Sprigg?" 
asked  the  General,  suddenly  rousing  from  a  stupor  the  effect 
of  so  much  "  drumming  and  tooting"  as  he  privately  assured 
Mrs.  General,  and  that  of  brandy  and  water  unwisely  pro- 
portioned as  she  was  really  persuaded. 

"  Oh,  I've  had  no  time  to  read  it  attentively  as  yet. 
Very  witty,  isn't  it?  Job  always  has  something  funny 
to  say.     What  do  you  think  of  it.  General  ?" 

"  Well,  sir,  I  don't  see  no  fun  in  ratting  all  the  time, 
and  our  folks  none  of  'em  don't  either.  He's  allers  trying 
to  make  himself  conspicuous,  no  matter  what  harm  he 
does  the  party.  He  thinks  he's  throwin'  himself  forward 
on  the  wave  of  popular  ideas,  but  it's  all  wrong.  The 
only  way  is  to  stick  to  your  party  whatever  it  does  and 
wherever  it  goes.     Them's  my  sentiments." 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,  and  highly  creditable  and 
original  ones,"  put  in  Slymer.     "  By  the  by.  General,  is  our 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  193 

compagnon  de  voyage,  Mr.  Yernon,  to  run  against  you  in 
the— th  District?" 

"  I  calculate  he  will — I  hope  so,  anyhow.  There's  a  kind 
of  doubt  between  him  and  Amos  K.  Tucker,  and  the 
convention  hain't  decided  yet.  I'd  rather  have  him  of  the 
two.  Amos  K.'s  dreadful  popular  with  our  laboring  feller 
citizens,  and  '11  poll  a  strong  no-party  vote." 

"Let's  see — heavy  Irish  constituency  isn't  there.  Suppose 
now  the  Crier  and  the  Yahoo  come  out  good  and  strong  on 
Amos  K.  for  being  an  Abolitionist,  that  may  help  to  throw 
him  out  of  the  convention,  eh?" 

"  Well,  praps — 'twould  have  weight  certainly.  Suppose 
you  two  gentlemen  come  home  with  us  after  the  Opera. 
Our  carriage  will  be  here.  We'll  have  a  quiet  little  supper. 
Staggers  is  coming  too.  You  know  Elias  P.  ?  Oh,  of 
course,  he  came  over  with  you  in  the  Assyriay 

This  pleasant  little  arrangement  being  carried  without 
dissent,  the  conversation  turned  on  their  quondam  fellow 
travellers. 

"  There  they  are,"  said  Mrs.  General,  indicating  the 
Yernon  box,  "sweet  girl,  Grace  Yernon — that's  she  in 
white,  and  the  one  in  purple  that's  Nelly  Grazebrook.  Her 
father  drank  himself  to  death,  and  her  mother  ran  away 
with  somebody.  One  would  think  she  was  a  Deddingstone 
or  a  Yon  Quoit,  by  the  way  she  carries  herself  It's  always 
the  way  with  these  low  people." 

"  Oh,  ma,"  cried  Yioletta,  "  Nelly  Grazebrook  can't  be 
called  low,  for  she's  a  very  fine  mind,  and  every  one  says 
she's  so  accomplished." 

"  She  hasn't  blood,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  General  decidedly. 
"  That  makes  the  difference  between  her  and  certain  other 
people.  Only  to  think  of  her  trying  to  inveigle  young 
Boynton  into  a  match  before  he'd  been  at  Uplands  a  week  ?" 

"  Did  she  though  ?"  asked  Slymer,  with  interest. 

"To  be  sure,"  affirmed  Mrs.  General.  "That's  the 
reason  he  went  off  South  so  quick.  He  meant  to  stay 
till  the  Opera  came.  He  told  us  so  at  Newport;  and 
he  would— /or  certain  reasons'^ — with  a  sly  glance  at  her 

9 


194  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

daughters,  "  but  that  this  set  was  made  at  him,  and  he 
couldn't  exactly  avoid  joining  them  in  town  when  they 
came." 

"But  surely  the  Vernons  are  perfectly  comme  il  faut  as 
respects  family,  and  certainly  abundantly  rich  !" 

"No  doubt;  but  she's  no  relation,  you  know — only  a 
kind  of  poor  hanger-on.  Of  course  Grace  Vernon  is  a 
totally  different  person.  Perhaps  you  don't  know  what 
a  great  fancy  she  took  for  our  Gossy  ?  Quite  marked,  I 
assure  you.  But  Gossy,  dear  fellow,  who's  discretion 
itself,  saw  it  wouldn't  answer,  considering  politics  and  all." 

"  They  say  she's  engaged  to  Stephen  Dangerfield." 

"  Dear  me !  I  thought  if  to  any  of  the  party  it  would  be 
to  Eliot,  that  young  Englishman  you  know.  He  came  to 
Newport  with  us.  Nice  man  very,  and  thought  our 
society  quite  as  good  as  Lords  and  Dooks  which  he'd 
always  mixed  with.  Sec,  there  he  is  now !  Behind  Grace. 
That  looks  rather  like  flirtation,  doesn't  it  ?'" 

"  Oh,  he's  not  a  marrying  man.  Came  here  to  see  the 
country,  and    write  a   book  about  it,   and  so  on.     I  saw 

some  friends  of  his  at  Lord 's  in  London — promised 

to  use  my  influence  for  him  and  all  that." 

"  He's  very  agreeable.  I  don't  like  that  young  Danger- 
field.  He's  too  free  and  easy,  and  acts  as  if  he  thought 
people  in  trade  not  good  enough  to  speak  to.  Shouldn't 
you  think  her  father  would  rather  have  the  Englishman — 
his  own  countryman  ?" 

"  Oh,  Yernon  is  a  thorough  American,  you  know.  Been 
here  a  great  many  years,  and  made  most  of  his  money 
here.  The  worst  of  him  is  he's  a  radical — an  abolitionist. 
But  he  has  no  feelings  which  are  not  national  ones,  although 
he  censures  so  much  what  he  calls  our  abuses." 

The  General  here  proposed  to  go  out  to  get  a  drink, 
and  obstinately  ignoring  the  frowns  and  winks  of  dis- 
couragement indulged  in  by  Mrs.  General,  he  proceeded 
to  put  his  proposition  into  practice  accompanied  by  Slymer 
and  the  willing  Sprigg. 

"  I  don't  like  drinkin'  in  bars,"  remarked  the  General, 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  195 

parenthetically,  on  the  stairs,   "  but  a  public  man  in  my 
position  can't  very  well  get  rid  of  it." 

His  companions  endorsed  the  necessity  and  condoled 
with  the  General  on  the  sacrifices  which  it  entailed  ;  but 
whether  he,  they,  or  both  intended  a  double  entendre  or 
to  accept  the  speech  of  the  other  as  such,  was  manifestly 
uncertain.  By  the  time  they  got  tO'  the  bar — a  long, 
smoky  den  in  the  cellar  of  the  huge  building — the  General's 
party  had  been  joined  by  a  motley  train  of  political  adher- 
ents, or  those  who  it  was  supposed  might  become  such. 
Stephen  Dangerfield  met  the  procession  in  the  passage,  and 
would  have  taken  no  notice  except  to  touch  his  hat  to  the 
two  or  three  men  in  the  van  who  were  known  to  him.  But 
his  attention  was  attracted  as  they  passed  by  seeing  among 
its  number — walking  arm-in-arm  with  Elias  P.  Staggers, 
and  laughing  and  talking  in  high  good-humor — Mr.  Kirk- 
wood. 


CHAPTER  XXni. 


THE  Yernons  had  a  small  but  elegant  house  near  Madison 
Square,  which  they  occupied  during  occasional  visits, 
so  saving  the  necessity  for  repairing  to  the,  to  them,  unin- 
viting Hotels.  Hither  they  sometimes  came  when  attracted 
by  a  new  opera,  a  celebrated  artist,  or  some  other  object 
of  interest:  hither  came  Oliver  Vernon  when  business  or 
politics  at  intervals  might  call  him  to  town :  and  hither 
the  family  usually  resorted  to  pass  the  severer  part  of  the 
winter. 

Stephen  and  Eliot  were  invited  to  dinner  a  week  from 
the  day  after  their  visit  to  the  Opera,  the  latter  proposing 
to  set  out  for  the  South  shortly  after  by  way  of  Niagara 
and  the  Lakes,  and  the  former  hesitating  whether  or  not 
to  accompany  him.  Grace  and  Elinor  were  both  rather 
anxious  that  the  young  EngHshman  should  find  something" 


196  DANGERFIELD  S   REST  ;    OR 

more  worthy  of  admiration  than  they  suspected  he  had 
found  in  New  York.     For,  said  Grace  : — 

"  You'll  remember  that  although  Paris  is  France,  New 
York  is  not  America." 

"Still,"  remarked  Eliot,  "New  York  is  the  capital  of 
your  country." 

"Not  so,"  interposed  Oliver  Vernon,  " save  in  a  partial 
and  incomplete  sense.  For,  while  Washington  is  the 
political,  Boston  is  certainly  the  literary  or  scholastic  capital, 
and  New  York  can  only  be  considered  the  commercial  capital 
of  the  Union.  And  even  this,  only  in  virtue  of  having 
more  wharves  and  ships  than  oth-er  towns,  which  have, 
except  in  these  and  the  number  of  their  populations,  an 
equal  title  to  the  consideration." 

"  I'm  sure,"  cried  Stephen,  "  New  York  is  the  most 
un-American  city  in  the  country.  At  least  it  is  the  only 
one  which  permits  itself  to  be  exclusively  ruled  by 
foreigners,  and  those  of  the  lowest  and  most  ignorant  sort." 

"But,"  said  Eliot,  smiling,  "is  not  this  your  own 
fault?" 

"  Unhappily  it  is  to  a  great  extent,"  answered  Yernon 
gravely.  "  Although  numbers  certainly  must  continue  to 
have  great  sway  so  long  as  universal  suffrage  is  tolerated. 
It  is  the  vice  of  our  system  that,  under  it,  minorities  are  pre- 
sumed to  have  no  rights  which  the  majorities  are  bound  to 
respect.  The  evil  reaches  its  culmination  here  where  the 
immigrant  class  is  in  such  excess.  Thus  property-holders 
are  numerically  in  a  minority,  and,  therefore,  their  rights  are 
set  at  naught  by  the  majority.  They  pay  heavy  taxes, 
which  are  dissipated  and  swallowed  up  by  the  bad  men  the 
majority  votes  into  power.  The  educated  and  refined 
are  in  a  minority,  and  therefore  their  rights  are  ignored 
and  themselves  set  aside  in  favor  of  the  ignorant  and 
the  debased.  However,  the  evil  is  not  altogether  unal- 
loyed, for  it  is  our  hope  that  there  may  be  education  and 
sense  enough,  as  well  as  numbers  enough  in  the  country 
districts,  to  counterbalance,  in  a  general  sense,  the  per- 
versions of  the  town." 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  197 

"  Still  you  adhere  to  tlie  system,  and  the  people  at  large 
do  not  seem  disposed  to  change  it." 

"  We  shall  ho,  forced  to  change  it  ere  long,  in  some  respects, 
or  the  wisest  and  most  far-seeing  men  of  the  nation  are 
much  deceived.  In  the  mean  time,  we  consider  it  has 
already  achieved  a  great  dfeal  of  good.  From  a  lofty  and 
generous  point  of  view,  a  nation  no  more  than  an  indivi- 
dual lives,  or  should  live,  for  itself  alone.  Our  example  in 
modifying  and  ameliorating  the  condition  of  the  masses  we 
believe  to  have  a  favorable  effect  on  the  whole  civilized 
world,  which  effect,  of  course,  must  be  gauged  by  our  suc- 
cess. Where  we  fail  or  go  too  far,  even  the  necessary  reme- 
dies or  retrogression  will  prove  to  have  value  of  their  own 
through  the  same  force  of  example." 

"I  don't  know  how  far  the  parallel  between  nations 
and  individuals  would  be  sound  as  put  to  the  practical  test. 
You  know,  however,  that  in  England,  where  there  certainly 
has  been  no  lack  of  experience,  most  people  are  disposed 
to  accept  for  both,  the  maxim,  quieta  non  movere.  Your 
theory  is  unquestionably  magnanimous,  but  does  it  not 
savor  too  much  of  optimism  as  applied  to  perpetual 
change  ?" 

"  Any  people  which  accepts  as  guiding  principles  a 
set  of  ideas  which  imply  a  constant  progression  toivards  right 
must  be,  in  that  sense,  a  nation  of  optimists.  Its  history 
will  be  made  up  of  advances  and  recessions.  We  hope  to 
make  the  former  always  somewhat  greater  than  the  latter  : 
so  that  the  general  drift  will  always  be  toward  that  which  is 
higher  and  better  :  and  we  propose  to  educate  all  men  that 
the  number  may  constantly  be  on  a  relative  increase  whose 
feelings  and  interests  will  prompt  them  to  act  in  the  right 
direction." 

"  Such  a  policy,  however  noble  in  the  abstract,  is  not 
likely  to  be  viewed  with  favor  by  those  whose  privileges 
and  security  depend  on  the  preservation  of  the  existing 
order  of  things.  It  cannot  obtain  for  America  the  sympa- 
thies of  other  great  governments." 

"  Of  other  governments,  no ;  of  the  peoples,  yes ;  and 


198  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

if,  as  wc  believe,  the  policy  be  good,  the  beneficial  end  will 
be  attained,  for  good  peoples  will  ultimately  make  good 
governments.  I  do  not  think  the  founders  of  the  Eepub- 
lic  were  of  opinion,  any  more  than  I  am,  that  the  best  inter- 
ests of  their  countrymen  were  attainable  in  ultra  demo- 
cracy ;  yet,  perhaps,  neither  they  nor  mankind  would  have 
been  satisfied  until  the  experiment  was  made,  and  our 
great  hope  now  is  that  it  may  not  cost  us  too  dear." 

"  We  shall  certainly  have  to  bring  about  reforms  in  our 
great  sea-coast  towns,"  said  Stephen,  "  to  keep  the  respect 
of  the  world,  as  well  as  to  set  right  mere  local  grievances. 
Critics  abroad  can't  understand  until  they  see  for  them- 
selves how  much  the  nation  at  large  has  been  libelled  and 
misrepresented  by  what  goes  on  at  the  great  points  of  im- 
migration. Why,  even  Eliot,  here,  believed  before  he 
came,  that  the  Crier  was,  as  it  claims  to  be,  a  fair  exponent 
of  American  character  and  manners,  instead  of  being  what 
it  is,  the  rowdy  organ  of  the  worst  class  of  foreign  popu- 
lation. The  fact  is,  that  almost  everything  which  is  most 
repugnant  to  good  taste  and  good  morals  as  viewed  from 
the  European  standpoint, — such  as  the  vulgarity  and  black- 
guardism of  the  Press,  the  Crier  being  the  lowest  type — 
the  selfish  and  cruel  pro-slavery  fanaticism, — the  outra- 
geous boasting, — the  truculent  arrogance  toward  other 
nations — all  these  and  more,'  are  largely  due  to  foreign 
renegades  among  us  in  a  direct  sense,  or  indirectly  to  the 
propitiation  and  delectation  of  the  masses  of  foreign  voters 
thronging  the  great  cities,  who  enjoy  political  power  how- 
ever low  their  intelligence,  or  deficient  their  education." 

"  Such  a  state  of  things  should  be  counteracted,"  re- 
marked Eliot ;  "  your  most  eminent  and  cultivated  men, 
perceiving  the  evil,  should  labor  to  neutralize  or  remove 
it." 

"That  of  course  must  be  the  ultimate  result,"  responded 
Yernon,  "  but  hitherto  such  persons  have  been  criminally 
negligent.  When  they  discover,  as  sooner  or  later  they 
will  discover,  that  the  rights  of  property  arc  never  perma- 
nently respected  when  its  duties  are  unfulfilled,  wc  shall 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  199 

have  a  change  rfor  the  better.  A  society  cannot  long  re- 
main civilized  wherein  the  very  judges  are  elected  by  the 
classes  from  whose  ranks  come  the  criminals  it  is  their  duty 
to  punish." 

****** 

Eliot  spoke  of  his  proposed  tour,  and  his  intended  visit 
to  Cuthbert  Boynton.  His  time  was  rather  limited,  and  it 
was  not  probable  he  would  again  see  Elinor  alone.  At 
the  same  time  he  was  anxious,  not  to  say  curious,  respect- 
ing the  true  state  of  her  feelings  in  relation  to  the  young 
Southerner.  He  had  watched  the  undisguised  admiration 
of  the  latter  for  the  beautiful  girl  with  unselfish  interest, 
and  seeing  so  much  in  each  suitable  and  congenial  to  the 
other,  he  had  hoped  for  the  successful  consummation  of  a 
match.  He  was  surprised,  as  others  were,  by  Cuthbert's 
sudden  departure,  but  reflection  led  him  to  believe  that  the 
young  people,  each  of  whom  was  so  conspicuously  fastidi- 
ous, had  had  some  trifling  quarrel,  which  was  unnecessarily 
magnified  into  a  reason  for  separation.  If  such  were  the 
case,  he  resolved  that  his  friendly  ofiices  should  not  be 
wanting  to  effect,  if  possible,  a  reconciliation.  The  scene 
at  the  opera  had  rather  confirmed  his  opinion  that  a  real 
attachment  existed,  but  he  wished  to  obtain  from  Elinor 
some  additional  corroboration.  She  understood  his  object, 
and  blushed  scarlet  at  his  allusions  to  the  absent  one,  but 
she  evaded  being  drawn  out  further,  and,  thinking  that  at 
the  opera  she  had  been  already  betrayed  into  going  too  far, 
she  avoided  during  the  evening  giving  Eliot  any  opportu- 
nity to  pursue  his  investigations. 

Yernon  favored  Eliot  with  some  advice,  the  prominent 
feature  whereof  lay  in  the  repeated  injunction,  by  all  means 
to  include  New  England  and  the  North-west  in  his  future 
plans  of  travel. 

"  The  country  cannot  be  judged,"  he  said,  "  except  by 
an  examination  of  all  its  parts,  any  more  than  it  could  be 
a  nation  without  them  all.  Many  tourists  from  Europe 
think  when  they  have  seen  New  York  and  Washington, 
Niagara  and  the  Mississippi,  that  they  have  '  done '   the 


200  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

United  States.  Never  was  a  greater  blunder.  To  judge 
the  country  by  its  cities  we  have  seen  to  be  fallacious.  To 
estimate  the  body  of  the  nation  without  examining  its  head 
and  right  arm  is  even  worse.  Those  are  precisely  the  parts 
which  make  all  the  difference  between  these  travellers' 
prognostications  and  actual  events  as  they  occur,  and  as 
they  will  occur  in  the  future." 

Eliot  promised  to  be  as  exhaustive  as  possible  in  his  re- 
searches, and  the  conversation  turned  to  lighter  themes. 
Stephen  and  Grace  became  rather  unsocial  on  the  former 
getting  to  the  drawing-room,  and  engaged  in  negotiations 
of  an  apparently  exclusive  character,  in  a  far-off  corner. 
Stephen  had  determined  to  escort  his  friend  at  least  as  far 
as  Niagara,  and  the  separation  of  a  week  clearly  called  for 
elaborate  explanations  and  agreements  between  the  lovers. 
Then  little  Ally,  looking  charmingly  fresh  and  bright  in 
white  muslin  and  pink  ribbons,  renewed  her  acquaintance 
with  her  favorite  Mr.  Eliot.  For  Oliver  Vernon  was  so 
old-fashioned  as  to  think  that  adults  of  a  family  or  its 
guests  were,  as  a  rule,  more  comfortable  when  dining  with- 
out its  olive-branches.  It  was  one  of  his  remaining  Enghsh 
prejudices — and,  sooth  to  say,  many  of  his  American  ac- 
quaintances counted  it  one — that  the  conversation  of  chil- 
dren, however  sprightly,  or  the  rel-ation  of  their  adven- 
tures, however  wonderful,  arc  better  enjoyed  and  appreci- 
ated at  any  other  than  the  dinner  hour,  and  his  prejudices, 
such  as  they  were,  had  to  be  respected. 

After  a  time,  Grace  and  Stephen  came  out  of  their  soli- 
tude. He  had  told  her  all  about  his  apprehensions  respect- 
ing Kirkwood,  and  how  he  anticipated  losing  his  patrimony, 
and  had  been  half  provoked  by  the  wonder  in  her  great 
blue  eyes,  which  asked  if  that  was  all  he  was  making  him- 
self wretched  about.  And  then  there  was  music,  and 
Elinor  sang  again.  And  none  there  knew  except  herself 
how  many  a  day  would  come  and  pass  before  her  voice  was 
again  to  be  raised  in  that  happy  family  circle. 

"  You  have  no  other  message — no  word  ?"  half  whis- 
pered Eliot  to  the  singer,  as  he  turned  over  her  music. 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  201 

"Nothing,"  she  answered  in  the  same  voice,  through  the 
symphony ;   "  nothing  but  what  you  already  have." 

The  little  party  broke  up  at  last.  Eliot  had  promised  to 
write  to  Vernon,  giving  his  impressions  as  they  came  of 
what  he  saw  and  heard  in  his  journeyings.  And  little 
Ally  had  gravely  declined  his  proposition  to  take  her 
"  down  South  "  again.  And  Stephen  was  to  write  to  Grace 
every  day,  and  she  was  only  to  answer  when  she  saw  fit. 
And  the  same  quiet  stars  which  they  all  gazed  up  towards 
and  reverently  admired  when  they  parted  on  the  stoop, 
shone  down  on  them  all  four-and-twenty  hours  after,  but  to 
find  them  far  apart.  The  Yernons  and  their  protegee  had 
returned  to  their  country  home,  to  enjoy  the  gorgeous 
coloring  of  autumn  ;  Elinor  had  gone  to  pay  her  promised 
visit  to  her  aunt ;  Mrs.  Maberly  and  the  two  young  men 
were  flying  over  Western  New  York,  and  fast  coming 
within  ear-shot  of  the  Mighty  Cataract. 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 


MR.  Staggers  was  in  his  snug  and  well  appointed  office 
situate  close  by  Wall  street.  Whatever  might  be 
the  merits  or  demerits  of  Elias  P. — whatever  the  obfusca- 
tion  of  his  average  idea  as  regards  meum  and  iuum,  he 
was  in  his  habits,  dress,  and  surroundings,  the  pink  of  neat- 
ness, punctuality,  and  order.  There  was  not  a  speck  of 
dust  on  the  desks,  the  chairs,  the  carpet,  the  oil-cloths. 
Not  a  scrap  of  paper  or  a  pen  but  was  tidily  arranged 
in  its  place.  Moreover,  the  appointments  of  the  two  rooms 
were  altogether  appropriate  and  comfortable.  The  most 
fastidious  could  find  no  worse  fault  than  consisted  in, 
perhaps,  a  rather  too  generous  supply  of  spittoons ;  and 
this  was  a  fault  which  most  habitues  would  be  apt  to  consider 
a  merit. 

Mr.  James  Kirkwood  had  just  come  in.     When  he  made 

9* 


202  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

his  entrance  at  the  door  of  the  front  room  Hon.  Job  Hey- 
densucker  made  his  exit  at  the  door  of  the  back  room. 
The  distinguished  politician  had  been  arranging  for  a  trifling 
loan  anent  an  impending  election,  and  which,  after  much 
demur  and  haggling  on  the  part  of  Elias  P.,  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  negotiating.  To  do  the  Honorable  Job  justice, 
he  was  always  large  and  generous  enough  in  bargaining 
for  accommodations  of  the  kind.  The  chronic  difficulty 
with  him  recurred  when  the  time  arrived  for  repaying  them. 

Kirkwood's  business  was  very  simple,  and  of  a  character 
which  the  Broker  had  often  transacted  for  him  before.  He 
wanted  a  small  bill  of  Martin  Dangerfield's  discounted,  as 
he  briefly  explained. 

"  Only  a  thousand  to-day,  eh,  Mr.  Kirkwood.  Glad  to 
oblige  you,  whether  for  one  or  ten.  Old  chap's  good 
for  it,  alius,  I  reckon.  Take  a  seat,  sir,  and  sit  down,  and 
we'll  fix  this  for  you  in  no  time." 

Kirkwood  accepted  the  invitation  so  far  as  to  walk  into 
the  innef"  office,  while  Staggers  handed  the  note  to  a  clerk 
directing  him  to  draw  a  check  for  him  to  sign  covering  the 
sum  minus  the  usual  discount. 

"  People  say  young  Mr.  Dangerfield's  engaged  to  Miss 
Vernon,"  suggested  Elias  P.  inquiringly. 

"  So  I've  heard." 

"  She'll  have  quite  a  mine  I  expect.  How  much  d'ye 
spose  old  Yernon's  wuth  ?" 

Kirkwood  explained  that  he  had  as  yet  made  no  precise 
calculations  on  the  subject. 

"Well,  it's  a  very  good  thing  for  both  on  'em,  I  dare 
say.     Though  I,  for  one,  would  rather  it  weren't  so." 

Kirkwood  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  expressed  a  desire  to 
know  the  cause  of  the  other's  objection. 

"Fact  is  our  youngf  riend  Von  Donk — dashing  young 
feller  we'  were  with  at  the  Opera,  you  know — he's  been 
a  good  deal  smashed  there,  and  as  he's  a  fine  feller  and 
a  friend,  Pd  like  to  have  seen  him  succeed,  that's  all." 

"  The  Von  Donks  are  very  rich,  aren't  they  ?" 

"Guess  the  General's  got  a  cool  million — rich   enough 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  208 

any  way  to  make  his  son  a  better  match  than  Steve 
Dangerfield!" 

"  Dangerfield's  likely  to  be  pretty  well  off,"  said  Kirk- 
wood  carelessly.  "  The  Rest  is  an  uncommonly  fine  pro- 
perty." 

"Oh,  well  off,  p'raps,"  replied  the  Broker,  "but  sumthin' 
depends  on  whether  the  estate's  clear  or  not,  don't  it  ?" 

"  Do  you  know  whether  it  is  or  not?" 

"  Don't  know  nothing  about  it.  But  if  it  was  dipped  at 
all,"  added  Elias  P.,  slowly,  and  looking  steadily  on  his 
interlocutor,  "  I  know  it  wouldn't  be  hard  to  find  a  pur- 
chaser for  the  incumbrance." 

Kirkwood  reflected.  We  have  said  the  two  men  had  had 
business  relations  before.  They  had,  in  fact,  known  each 
other  for  many  years.  It  did  not,  therefore,  require  so 
long  a  time,  or  take  so  many  words  for  a  mutual  under- 
standing as  it  otherwise  might  have  done.  There  was 
only  a  moment's  pause  then,  before  Kirkwood  spoke : — 

"  You're  not  over  fond  of  Stephen  Dangerfield,  I  take  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  say  that,"  answered  Staggers,  cautiously, 
"  Anyhow,  not  to  a  friend  of  his  father's  and  p'raps  of  his. 
It's  nateral  for  us  all  to  like  our  friends  before  strangers. 
I  don't  cotton  to  these  here  landed  folks  much,  that's  a  fact ; 
however,  I  hain't  got  no  prejudices.  It  takes  all  kinds 
o'  people  to  make  a  world.  But  Goss  Yon  Donk  he's 
got  some  reason  to  feel  riled  at  Steve,  and  I  guess  he 
does."  . 

"  Oliver  Yernon  cares  little  for  money,"  said  Kirkwood, 
in  a  deliberating  tone  and  as  if  talking  to  himself,  "  but  he 
cares  a  great  deal  for  landed  property  and  a  clear  name.  I 
believe  he'd  rather  give  his  daughter  to  a  man  whose 
family  own  the  soil  they  live  on,  than  to  one  who  owned 
twice  its  value  in  ships  and  stocks." 

"Money'll  buy  everything,"  said  Elias  P.,  with  reve- 
rence, "  and  every  man  has  his  price.  Some  cost  more, 
some  less.  Goss  Yon  Donk'll  be  able  to  command  a  good 
deal,  I  calculate,"  he  added,  reflectively,  as  the  clerk 
brought  in  the  check. 


204  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Kirkwood,  as  he  received  and  placed 
it  in  his  pocket-book.  "Landed  securities  are  rather  in 
demand  now,  are  they  not  ?"  he  queried,  looking  at  his 
watch. 

"  Allers  good,  sir,  allers  good,"  replied  Staggers,  "pro- 
vided folks  don't  make  too  large  a  mouth  on  'em.  How 
much  land  did  you  say  there  was  up  there  ?" 

"  Up  where  ?" 

"  Why,  of  Dangerfield's  ;— Dangerfield's  Rest?" 

"  Oh,  about  three  hundred  acres,  I  believe." 

"  Old  man's  pooty  feeble  now-a-days,  aint  he  ?" 

"  His  health  is  a  good  deal  broken." 

"  Steve  don't  gamble  nor  nuthin'  does  he  ?" 

"  I  know  little  of  his  habits — I  should  say,  decidedly 
not." 

"  Well,  since  you're  making  investments  for  Mr.  Dan- 
gerfield" — 

"I'm  doing  nothing  of  the  sort." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  pardon,  I'm  sure.  But  you  see  these  different 
bills  of  his"— 

"  Are  simply  in  liquidation  of  an  interest  account  be- 
tween us." 

"  Oh,  ah,  yes,  I  see.  I  did  not  mean  to  ask  the  question, 
you  know,  Mr.  Kirkwood.  Ask  me  no  questions  and  I'll 
tell  you  no  lies,  eh  ?  All  is,  if  you  want  anything  done 
in  my  line,  I  hope  you'll  give  me  the  chance  ?" 

"  Thanks.  I'll  not  forget.  For  the  present  I'll  wish 
you  good  morning  as  I've  an  appointment  on  the  Stock 
Exchange." 

Each  of  these  worthies  had  a  point  to  carry,  but  Kirk- 
wood had  the  advantage  as  he  saw  the  whole  drift  and  aim 
of  the  broker's,  while  to  the  latter,  his  own  was  as  a  sealed 
book.  Clearly,  a  very  strong  engine  could  be  made  ser- 
viceable by  offering  an  infatuated  and  rejected  lover  the 
opportunity  of  obtaining  a  ruinous  hold  over  his  rival, 
and  at  the  same  time  propitiating  the  loved  one's  father 
in  a  manner  promising  to  be  conclusive.  Kirkwood  knew 
perfectly  the  weak  portions  of  so  plausible  a  scheme,  but 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  205 

of  course  it  was  not  his  cue  to  blazon  tbem.  If  lie  could 
make  any  use  of  Staggers,  and,  through  him,  of  young  Von 
Donk,  he  cared  little  what  became  of  them  or  their  specu- 
lation afterward.  He  had  said  just  as  much  as  was  requi- 
site to  keep  the  broker  on  the  qui  vive  to  take  a  hand  in  a 
profitable  intrigue,  and  just  as  little  as  would  readily  allow 
him  to  throw  the  thing  over  if  his  safety  or  convenience 
required.  His  main  object  was  to  place  himself  in  such 
a  posil^on  that  he  could  at  the  shortest  notice  cut  his  cable 
and  sail  away  with  the  largest  possible  quantity  of  spoil, 
and  he  was  merely  buoying  out  the  channel  in  advance. 


CHAPTER  XXY. 


ELINOR  sat  in  her  aunt's  little  parior,  which,  vastly 
different  as  it  was  from  the  large  drawing-rooms  at 
Uplands,  was  decidedly  comfortable  and  religiously  clean. 
There  were  books,  few  in  number  but  not  amiss  in  quality, 
a  few  good  prints  on  the  walls,  a  piano-forte,  old  and  worn, 
but  in  good  preservation,  and  from  the  windows  could  be 
seen  the  sea. 

Mrs.  Maberly  was  a  slight,  lady-like  woman  of  fifty, 
with  pale  blue  eyes,  a  patient  brow,  and  brown  hair 
thickly  strewn  with  grey.  She  had  seen  much  trouble 
in  ^arly  life,  but  her  later  years  had  been  quiet  and  peace- 
ful. Left  a  widow  some  ten  years  before  with  a  slender 
income  and  no  children,  she  had  rented  the  cottage  she 
occupied,  having  as  her  sole  companion  a  woman  of  about 
her  own  age  who  officiated  as  servant  of  all  work.  Elinor 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  visiting  her  aunt  at  intervals,  and 
the  latter  had  often  been  urged  by  the  hospitable  Vernon 
to  return  these  visits  at  Uplands.  These  invitations  had 
been  gratefully  but  steadfastly  declined.  She  was  not 
accustomed  to  the  sphere  in  which  they  moved,  and  would 
only  be  uncomfortable  should  she  enter  it  even  temporarily. 


206  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

Her  conviction  was  that  people  were  better  and  happier  in 
the  position  wherein  it  had  pleased  Heaven  to  place  them. 
She  would  gladly  go  anywhere  when  by  going  she  could 
do  good,  but  preferred  not  to  visit  great  houses  for  merely 
social  purposes.  So  time  wore  on,  and  the  old  arrange- 
ment was  always  adhered  to. 

As  has  been  hinted,  EHnor  had  a  scheme,  and  it  was 
a  scheme  in  which  the  co-operation  of  her  aunt  was  highly 
desirable  if  it  was  not  absolutely  essential.  "When  she  had 
cautiously  unfolded  her  design  of  quitting  Uplands,  and 
the  motives  whereby  she  was  actuated  in  taking  such  a 
step,  Mrs.  Maberly,  although  she  expressed  great  regret 
and  concern,  and  begged  Elinor  to  give  the  subject  very 
serious  consideration,  could  not  but  admire  the  conscientious 
spirit  which  dictated  it,  or  hejp  acknowledging  that,  under 
such  circumstances,  she  recognised  its  propriety.  She  had 
immediately  resolved  to  press  upon  her  niece  the  accept- 
ance of  an  asylum  in  her  own  humble  abode,  nothing 
doubting  but  that  the  young  lady  had  contemplated  re- 
ceiving such  a  proffer.  But  Elinor  proceeded  to  relate  the 
remaining  and  most  important  features  of  her  plan.  She 
proposed,  she  said,  not  only  to  be  independent  of  Vernon 
but  of  every  one  else.  Not  only  to  spare  Grace  any 
further  social  detriment  which  her  presence  might  involve, 
but  to  put  a  gulf  between  them  which  would  thereafter  be 
impassable.  We  may  remark  that  Elinor  was  aware  of 
her  friend's  engagement  to  Stephen  Dangerfield ;  but  her 
resolution  was  rather  confirmed  than  shaken  by  what  she 
had  seen  of  that  gentleman.  For,  by  a  species  of  blunder 
which  very  clear-sighted  people  sometimes  commit,  she 
imagined  Stephen  to  be  of  an  exclusive,  not  to  say  haughty 
nature,  and  a  man  intensely  scrupulous  as  to  the  con- 
venances of  social  position,  and  largely  endowed  with 
family  pride.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that,  with  the 
exception  of  the  latter  clause,  she  was  quite  at  fault. 

Elinor  had  just  detailed  her  programme  and  was  con- 
cluding a  speech  in  its  defence  : — 

'*  After  all,  dear  aunt,"  she  said,  "  there  is  nothing  dis- 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.   »  207 

graceful  about  it.  It  is  unquestionably  honest,  and  cer- 
tainly laborious.  What  if  there  are  narrow-minded  people 
who  despise  and  condemn  it  ?  There  are  bigots  in  the  world 
who  condemn  everything  they  don't  clearly  understand." 

"  Indeed,  Elinor,"  said  Mrs.  Maberly,  with  a  sigh,  "  I 
could  wish  you  had  chosen  almost  any  other  profession. 
I  know  that  in  theory  it  is  unexceptionable  enough,  but  I 
fear  'tis  sadly  different  in  practice.  No  doubt,  there  are 
good  people  connected  with  it,  but  don't  we  always  hear 
them  spoken  of  as  exceptions ; — as  if  to  prove  the  general 
rule  which  runs  the  other  way  ?" 

"The  malice  and  injustice  of  the  world,"  replied  Elinor 
decidedl3\  "  When  people  are  posted  en  evidence  in  the 
public  view,  of  course  there  are  ten  to  repeat  and  exaggerate 
what  is  bad  of  them,  to  one  who  will  appreciate  and  extol 
what  is  good.  This  is  the  fact  with  all  public  callings  as 
well  as  with  that  of  the  Stage." 

'•  I'm  afraid,  my  dear,  that  the  acquittal  such  a  generality 
implies  would  be  more  generous  than  just  as  applied  to  the 
Theatre.  Your  dear  father  was  very  fond  of  the  society 
of  Theatrical  people,  and  his  friends  always  thought  it 
induced  or  confirmed  his  unhappy  failings." 

"  Surely,  aunt,  you  don't  mean  to  infer  that  you  think  all 
actors  and  actresses  are  monsters,  who  corrupt  every  one 
who  comes  within  their  reach?" 

"Certainly,  not  all ;  and  probably  scarcely  any  with  evil 
intent.  But  their  habits  and  pursuits  have  a  tendency  to 
demoralize,  to  some  extent,  those  who  mix  habitually  in 
their  society." 

"As  how,  pray  ?" 

"  Well,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  constant  habit 
of  simulation — pretending  to  be  what  you're  not — must, 
after  a  time,  dispose  people  to  take  unsound  views  of  life, 
if  not  to  become  deceitful  and  untruthful.  Then  there  is 
such  a  constant  pampering  of  egotism  in  the  applause  which 
is  so  immediately  and  personally  expected  and  received, 
that  it  really  seems  to  me  it  must  have  the  effect  to  weaken 
self-control." 


208  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  Each  of  these  causes,"  said  Elinor  thoughtfully,  "  may, 
to  be  sure,  have  an  injurious  effect  on  persons  of  weak  or 
ill-balanced  minds ;  but  such  persons  are  liable  to  injuri- 
ous effects  in  any  other  walk  of  life." 

"  Not  in  the  same  degree.  The  temptations  are  rarely 
brought  so  closely  and  constantly  before  them,  and  they 
are  not  so  frequently  brought  into  the  enfeebled  condition 
which  favors  yielding  to  their  fascination.  You  must 
remember  that  the  life  is  one  of  constantly  alternated  ex- 
citement and  reaction.  Nervous  excitement  of  an  exag- 
gerated character,  nervous  depression  following  in  propor- 
tion." 

"  But  there  are  those  in  the  profession  who  exhibit  dis- 
cretion and  self-control ;  who  lead,  in  a  word,  worthy  and 
reputable  lives." 

"  Undoubtedly  ;  and,  in  my  opinion,  they  deserve  higher 
credit  than  other  people,  who  have  only  average  tempta- 
tions to  resist,  and  average  obstacles  to  surmount.  I  only 
mean  to  say  that  the  dangers  in  their  case  are  so  much 
greater  than  ordinary,  that  it  would  be  very  strange — not 
to  say  improbable — if  their  weaknesses  and  defects  should 
not  also  be  greater  than  ordinary." 

"  The  life  is  not  least  glorious  which  has  to  face  great 
hazards." 

"  Perhaps,  but  it  is  often  the  most  unwise  one  to  follow. 
Besides,  people  are  so  very  apt  to  deceive  themselves  re- 
specting the  possession  of  dramatic  ability.  If  you  make 
a  book,  or  statue,  or  painting,  you  can  look  at  it  all  your 
life,  and  compare  the  criticism  of  your  own  matured  judg- 
ment with  that  of  the  world.  You  can  never  see  your 
own  representation  of  a  stage  character.  You  know  what 
you  think  and  feel,  but  you  don't  know  that  you  make 
your  audience  see  what  you  think  and  fcol.  Here,  indeed, 
a  coarse,  superficial  nature  will  always  have  the  advantage 
over  a  subtle  and  refined  one.  The  latter  has  a  poor  chance 
with  the  vox  pop uU.  Facts  as  they  exist  prove  it.  Popu- 
lar and  successful  actors  are  very  rarely  highly  intellectual 
or  refined  persons.     They  may  have  a  pretence  of  culture,  a 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  209 

certain  lacquer  of  refinement,  but  it  is  seldom  indeed  that 
they  are  either  thorough  or  profound.  Nor  is  there  a 
demand  that  they  should  be  ;  the  bulk  of  their  audiences 
would  neither  know  nor  care  about  it,  if  they  were  so. 
The  mass  looks  only  to  gratify  its  eye  and  ear ;  therefore 
the  qualities  in  demand  are  those  of  person  and  voice. 
Let  these  be  good,  and  their  possessor  will  outstrip  the 
closest  and  most  conscientious  student ;  fine  perception, 
scholarly  taste,  thorough  analysis  have  no  chance  with  them. 
It  is  the  knowledge  of  this  which  has  made  the  theatre  lose 
ground  with  the  educated  classes.  They  cease  to  respect 
an  institution  which,  whether  it  be  through  choice  or  neces- 
sity, habitually  appeals  to  an  order  of  intelligence  so  far 
beneath  their  own." 

"  They  have  the  remedy  in  their  own  hands." 

"  Not  until  their  numbers  bear  a  different  ratio  to  those 
of  the  masses.  That  is  to  say,  not  until  with  the  spread 
of  education  there  shall  be  created  a  higher  and  purer 
taste." 

Mrs.  Maberly's  objections  were  often  urged  in  a  similar 
strain,  but  she  found  Elinor  so  bent  upon  the  experiment 
she  had  long  secretly  contemplated,  that  the  good  lady 
finally  concluded  that  it  were  wiser  to  endeavor  to  guide 
her  niece  than  to  thwart  her.  She  therefore  consented  to 
assist  in  a  trial  being  made  in  the  manner  which  we  have 
now  to  describe.  Among  the  many  persons  of  the  profes- 
sion Elinor's  generous  but  improvident  father  had  befriend- 
ed, there  was  one  who,  as  Mrs.  Maberly  discovered  by  the 
newspapers,   had  attained  to  the  dignity  of  managing  a 

small  dramatic  company,  in  the  town  of  P ,  not  far 

from  the  metropolis. 

Isaiah  Grinder  had  been  almost  everything  by  turns.  He 
set  out  in  life  an  unfriended  boy,  and  adopted  as  a  calling 
what  he  facetiously  termed  the  lumber  business — selling 
matches.  From  this  he  gradually  acquired  the  capital  and 
financial  ability  requisite  for  the  conducting  of  a  pedlar's 
wagon,  which  was  in  turn  abandoned  for  "  keeping  tavern," 
on  one  of  the  old  post  roads  leading  into  Boston.     A  lew 


210  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

years  of  increasing  railways  brought  decreasing  profits  in 
this  formerly  lucrative  walk  of  life,  and  Isaiah  took  advan- 
tage of  the  springing  up  of  a  taste  for  what  were  known 
as  "great  moral  and  domestic  dramas  "  in  New  England  to 
become  the  director  of  a  travelling  company,  which  devoted 
i^  histrionic  abilities  to  illustrating  the  evils  of  intempe- 
rance, gaming,  slavery,  and  the  like  pleasant  vices,  in 
localities  where  less  virtuous  representations  would  scarcely 
have  been  tolerated.  By  degrees  he  had  increased  in 
substance  to  become  the  proprietor  of  a  fixed  establishment 

in  the  thriving  town  of  P ,  as  described.     His  name 

affixed  to  an  advertisement,  setting  forth  that  he  would  be 
in  New  York  at  the  present  date,  when  "  stars  and  ladies 
and  gentlemen  of  acknowledged  ability  might  apply  for 

engagements  at  the   P Lyceum,"  had  caught  Mrs. 

Maberly's  eye,  and  reminded  her  of  some  unpaid  for  pro- 
fessional service  rendered  the  man  by  her  brother,  the 
recollection  of  which  might  suggest  a  willingness  on  his 
part  to  afford  Elinor  an  eligible  opportunity  for  making 
the  experiment  she  was  so  determined  upon.  A  note  re- 
questing him  to  call  upon  her  had  brought  a  ready  response, 
and  on  the  following  day  the  manager  presented  himself 
in  person.  He  was  a  long,  weedy-looking  Yankee,  with  a 
shrewd  face  and  a  tearful  eye,  which  latter,  however,  was 
the  product  of  a  natural  affection  rather  than  that  of 
excessive  sympathetic  development.  He  listened  to  the 
case  at  first  with  some  apprehension,  which  subsided  as 
he  was  gradually  brought  to  understand  that  Elinor's 
views  included  the  sensible  one  of  beginning  at  the  bottom 
of  the  ladder,  and  eschewed  any  extravagant  notion  of 
pecuniary  remuneration. 

"  There's  a  heap  of  highly  edoocated  young  ladies  comin' 
forward  into  the  purfcssion  now,  Miss  Maberly,"  he  remark- 
ed, "  but  the  wust  of  it  is  they  all  expect  to  be  Kayshells 
and  Kimbles  right  off  in  a  minute.  It's  a  very  good  pint 
that  your  niece  is  willin'  to  learn  the  business  in  the  ardoo- 
us  career  she's  sot  on  enterin'  into.  I'm  willin'  and  dis- 
posed to  give  her  an  openin'  not  forgettin'  her  good  father's 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  211 

kindness  to  me.  I  don't  pretend  to  be  able  to  teach  her 
myself  much,  tho'  I  do  know  somethin'  about  most  things 
I  take  hold  on  ;  but  I've  got  the  best  stage  manager  in 
the  States;  Mugford,  ma'am,  the  husband  of  our  leading 
lady,  Miss  Adeline  de  Vere.  He  was  at  Covent  Gardin, 
Mugford  was,  j^ears  ago.  Carried  a  banner  when  John  Kim- 
ble took  the  part  of  King  John,  and  Charles  his  brother 
took  Fork-and-Bridge.  Miss  Siddons  was  there  and  taught 
Miss  de  Yere,  then  an  infant,  the  role  of  Alonzer's  child. 
He  knows  it  all,  he  does,  and  he  can  put  Miss  here  through 
in  good  shape." 

This  promising  interview  terminated  with  the  under- 
standing that  Elinor  should  have  the  chance  to  make  an 
appearance  at  an  early  day,  and  Grinder  mentioned  several 
minor  characters  of  an  "  interesting"  description  from 
which  it  would  be  well  for  her  to  make  a  selection.  He 
proposed  to  defer  any  permanent  arrangement  until  the 
degree  of  the  debutante's  success  should  supply  the  basis  for 
negotiation, — a  suggestion  which  seemed  reasonable  enough, 
— and  took  his  departure  with  many  expressions  of  interest 
and  encouragement.  Elinor  was  more  than  satisfied  with 
this  adjustment,  and  looked  forward  with  eagerness  to 
taking  through  its  means  the  first  step  in  the  avenue, 
which,  as  she  fondly  hoped,  was  to  conduct  her  to  inde- 
pendence and  artistic  renown. 


CHAPTER    XXYI. 


SO  it  was  determined  that  Mrs.  Maberly  should  accom- 
pany her  niece  to  P .     She  closed  her  little  house 

or  rather  its  front  shutters  and  blinds,  leaving  the  premises 
in  the  care  of  her  faithful  Margery.  Mr.  Grinder  had  pro- 
mised to  procure  a  suitable  and  respectable  lodging  for  the 
two  ladies,  which  should  offer  the  two  other  requisites  of 
cheapness  and  proximity  to  the  P Lyceum. 


212  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

Mrs.  Maberly,  on  tlie  whole,  rather  liked  the  arrange- 
ment. Since  Elinor  was  positively  determined  on  her  rash 
experiment,  it  was  better  that  it  were  made  in  a  quiet  out- 
of-the-way  place  like  P ,  than  in  either  of  the  great 

cities.  In  case  of  foilure  there  was  far  less  chance  of  her 
being  identified,  and  Miss  Ellen  Grey  could  return  to  Miss 
Elinor  Grazebrook,  with  tolerable  certainty  that  the  fashion- 
able world  would  not  be  shocked  by  the  discovery  that  she 
had  turned  play-actress  in  the  interim. 

Moreover,  it  must  be  confessed  that  Mrs.  Maberly  shared 
in  a  curious  prejudice  which,  apparently,  must  be  common 
to  great  numbers  of  people  in  America ;  she  liked  any 
name  to  designate  a  place  devoted  to  theatrical  perform- 
ances better  than  that  of  a  theatre.  Plain-spoken  enough 
as  a  rule,  this  was  the  one  spade  she  rather  preferred  to 
hear  called  out  of  its  name.  "  Garden,"  "  Lyceum,"  "  Mu- 
seum," "  Academy,"  "Atheneum,"  and  a  host  of  other 
ingenious  aliases,  were  more  grateful  to  her  ear  than  the 
obnoxious  "  Theatre."  Mr.  Grinder  harmonized  with  the 
worthy  lady  on  this  point  quite  unreservedly  : — 

"  Our  folks  don't  kinder  like,"  he  remarked,  "  talkin' 
about  goin'  to  the  theatre.  Some  thinks  it  sounds  ungodly, 
and  some  thinks  it  ain't  genteel.  Church-folks  '11  go  to  my 
place  and  see  the  same  drayma  they  play  to  all  the  theatres 
in  the  country,  as  bold  as  sheep,  jist  cause  it's  a  Lyceum. 
Study  in'  popular  prejudices  pays  now-a-days,  marm,  I  tell 

you.     Look  at  that  ere  Aaron  Scrimpall,  in  B .     He's 

one  o'  the  meanest  white  men  in  the  States ;  a  kinder  cross 
'tween  a  Jew  and  a  Yankee,  with  the  good  pints  of  both  left 

out.     He's  made  a  reg'lar  smashing  fortune  up  to  B , 

by  callin'  his  show-shop  an  Atheneum.  Go  there  and  you'll 
see  the  white  chokers  all  in  a  row,  strung  along  like  onions 
on  a  rope.  They'd  think  they  was  bound  down  stairs, 
sure,  if  they  went  to  a  place  called  a  theatre,  and  half  the 
rest  of  the  folks  either  think  so  too,  or  think  their  business 
will  suffer  by  real  theatre-going  in  the  eyes  of  them  as  do. 
Everybody  knows  Aaron's  a  narrow-souled,  skin-flinted, 
hypocritical  cuss.     Everybody  knows  he  grinds  down  all 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  213 

his  people,  givin'  'em  dimes  where  they've  earned  dollars, 
and  cents  where  they've  earned  dimes.  But  then  he 
calls  his  shop  an  '  Atheneum,'  and  he  goes  to  church  every 
Sunday." 

Whether  Mrs.  Maberly  sympathized  with  the  moral 
deterioration  which  appeared  to  arise  from  calling  a  theatre 
by  a  wrong  name  or  not,  she  was  at  all  events  persuaded 
that  it  would  reflect  a  shade  less  discredit  on  the  family  for 
EUnor  to  come  out  at  a  "Lyceum,"  and  took  comfort 
accordingly. 

The  understanding  was  that  Elinor  should  play,  in  the 
first  instance,  a  single  character  of  moderate  length  and 
importance,  and  then  be  "left  out  of  the  bill"  for  a  few 
nights.  This  was  ostensibly  to  permit  her  to  rest,  and 
to  "  look  about  her"  as  regarded  the  preparation  of  ward- 
robe, etc.,  but  in  reality  the  experienced  Grinder  was  well 
aware  that  any  novice  might  make  a  complete  fiasco  and 
the  hiatus  would  enable  him  to  get  rid  of  her  quickly, 
without  the  inconvenience  and  explanation  which  would 
be  needful  if  her  name  were  sent  to  the  printers  for  the 
performances  next  succeeding  those  of  her  debut.  The 
character  determined  upon  was  Maria  in  The  School  for 
Scandal,  a  role  which,  as  the  Stage  Manager  assured  the 
aspirant,  was  a  capital  one  to  enable  her  to  acquire  "  stage 
ease." 

"  There's  very  little  to  say,"  said  he,  "  and  she's  a  good 
deal  on.  Then  she  has  all  the  interest — always  stands 
well  with  the  audience — and  the  dress  is  very  becoming — 
will  be  especially  so  to  you,  my  dear — you  don't  wear 
powder,  you  know,  and  all  the  rest  do." 

Elinor  was  at  first  somewhat  inclined  to  resent  the 
peculiar  phrases  of  endearment  and  familiarity  which  she 
found  to  be  in  vogue  at  the  rehearsals;  but  she  soon 
perceived  they  proceeded  from  habit,  being  only  employed 
in  a  highly  conventional  sense,  and  her  annoyance  abated. 

The  company,  it  must  be  confessed,  was  rather  a  shabby 
one,  both  as  respects  the  brilliancy  of  its  talent  and  the 
condition  of  its  personal  effects.     The  most  noticeable  artist 


214  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

was  the  •'  hearty  old  man,"  a  Mr.  RadclifFe,  who  had  the 
manner  of  a  gentleman,  although  sadly  worn  and  be-sodden. 
He  was  an  elderly  man — past  sixty-: — and  always  appeared 
to  be  in  the  act  of  recovering  from  a  fit  of  drinking.  His 
eyes  were  mellow  and  watery  from  the  combined  effect, 
it  might  be  supposed,  of  spirits  and  gas-light.  His  poor, 
wan  face  was  handsome  in  outline,  although  crossed  and 
wrinkled,  and  his  hands  showed  unmistakable  signs  of 
blood.  His  dress  was  mean  and  almost  threadbare,  but 
the  linen  was  always  scrupulously  clean;  and  the  thin 
brown  locks  seamed  with  grey,  were  brought  toward  his 
temples  with  air  almost  jaunty  in  its  neatness  and  pre- 
cision. Mr.  Radcliffe  was  the  "  Sir  Oliver"  of  the  comedy. 
Elinor  rernarked  that  Mr.  Radcliffe's  manner  in  raising 
his  hat  when  she  came  upon  the  stage  of  a  morning  was 
utterly  different  from  that  of  any  other  member  of  the 
company,  and  that  his  mode  of  speaking,  albeit  rather 
uncertain  at  times,  was  free  from  the  marvellous  rotundity 
and  finical  exactness  which  she  found  to  be  the  favorite 
affectations  with  most  of  these  disciples  of  the  sock  and 
buskin. 

Mrs.  Mugford  was  the  Stage  Manager's  wife,  and  played 
most  of  the  juvenile  business.  She  was  a  large-sized 
woman,  with  a  hooked  nose,  an  impaired  complexion, 
and  had  probably  seen  some  fifty  summers.  She  was 
"  up"  in  a  great  number  of  characters,  a  great  stickler  for 
"position,"  and  insisted  upon  being  known  in  the  play- 
bills as  "  Miss  Adeline  De  Vere."  This  was  the  personator 
of  "  Lady  Teazle." 

".Sir  Peter"  was  a  small,  irascible  man,  whom  Elinor 
had  seen  enact  "  Peter"  in  the  Stranger  and  some  farce 
parts  from  Mr.  Grinder's  box — kindly  lent  on  one  or  two 
occasions  prior  to  her  first  appearance.  He  ought  to  have 
played  "  Crabtree,"  if  anything,  but  he  was  a  favorite 
with  the  audience,  an  indispensable  man,  and  he  evinced  his 
appreciation  of  his  own  value  by  regularly  refusing  to  act  any 
but  the  most  effective  part  in  a  given  piece.  "  Crabtree," 
therefore,  fell  to  a  poor  forlorn-looking  man,  in    a  faded 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  215 

suit  of  snuff-colored  tweed,  and  who  usually  enacted  the 
"  fathers"  in  farces  and  melodramas. 

Joseph  and  Charles  Surface  were  to  be  represented 
respectively  by  a  long  young  man  with  a  bass  voice  and 
black  hair,  and  a  long  young  man  with  a  tenor  voice  and 
light  hair.  Both  looked  rather  dissipated,  and  both  were 
apparently  eUves  of  the  yard-stick  and  counter.  The  re- 
maining characters  were  cast  among  various  mysterious- 
looking  people  in  different  stages  of  dinginess  and  discon- 
tent, scarcely  one  of  whom,  down  to  "  Sir  Harry's  servant," 
but  thought  himself  mightily  aggrieved  in  not  playing  one 
of  the  principals. 

In   the   fortnight  that  elapsed  between  the  arrival  of 

Elinor  and  her  aunt  at  P ,  and  the  momentous  "first 

appearance  of  Miss  Ellen  Grey  "  at  the  Lyceum,  the  latter 
passed  her  time  in  studying,  and  otherwise  preparing  for 
the  arduous  duties  before  her.  They  were  tolerably  com- 
fortable in  the  house  of  one  Mrs.  Dawkins,  whom  after  get- 
ting over  her  first  horror  and  suspicion  of  the  character  of 
"  theatre  folks,"  they  found  to  be  an  amiable  and  kindly 
person.  Elinor  had  no  idea  of  devoting  her  best  powers 
in  the  way  of  study  and  analysis  to  the  "  walking  ladies  " 
she  expected  to  portray  during  her  novitiate.  She  had  the 
sense  to  understand,  as  has  been  indicated,  that  a  practical 
acquaintance  with  technical  details  was  an  essential  preli- 
minary to  maintaining  a  high  position  in  the  art,  and  she 
was  determined  firmly  to  go  through  the  course  she  had 
prescribed  to  herself  She  conceived,  however,  that  this 
mechanical  part  of  the  profession  was  distinct  from  the 
original  or  creative  portion,  which  latter  she  believed  her- 
self to  possess  in  as  great  a  degree  as  if  she  had  already 
passed  through  the  season  of  probation.  She  perceived 
that  if  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  constituting  the  "  stock  " 

of  the  P Lyceum  had  the  advantage  of  her  in  point 

of  technical  knowledge,  she  had  decidedly  the  advantage 
of  them  in  those  of  education,  refinement,  and  attrition 
with  good  society.  "What  she  proposed  to  do  was,  first  to 
acquire  the  minutise,  and  then  to  avail  of  the  advantages 


216  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

she  possessed  in  a  wider  field.  To  go  on  playing  Marias 
would  never  do  for  lier.  Elinor  made  the  mistake  which 
has  often  been  made  before  and  since  her  time.  Because 
the  people  she  was  thrown  among  were,  for  the  most  part 
and  in  a  social  sense,  unfit  to  sit  down  with  her  in  a  draw- 
ing-room, she  imagined  that  her  future  success  with  mixed 
audiences  was  to  be  gauged  by  a  similar  ratio  of  difterence. 
She  had,  like  most  of  us,  to  gain  her  knowledge  by  expe- 
rience, and  for  the  common  reason — the  refusal  to  profit  by 
that  of  others. 

The  eventful  night  came  at  last.  The  night  which,  as 
Mugford  jocularly  observed,  was  "  big  with  the  fate  of 
Cato  and  of  Eome."  Mrs.  Mugford  "  my  che-y-ld"-ed 
Elinor  perpetually,  and  advised  a  careful  observation  of 
her  own  (Mrs.  M.'s)  manner,  as  an  eligible  study  for 
grounding  in  a  good  "school  of  high  comedy."     Grinder 

had  managed  the  two  papers,  the  P Eagle  and  Daily 

Bassoon,  very  well.  He  would  have  one  good  house  out 
of  his  prize  at  all  events.  The  Eagle  had  hinted  mysteri- 
ously at  a  young  lady  moving  in  the  very  highest  circles, 
and  who  was  incontestably  "  the  glass  of  fashion  and  mould 
of  form,"  having  been  secured  in  the  teeth  of  rival  metro- 
politan managers  by  the  superior  enterprise  and  strategy 
of  the  gifted  Grinder ;  and  the  Bassoon  had  followed  suit  in 
an  elaborate  eulogy  on  the  modesty  and  good  sense  of  the 
new  candidate  for  histrionic  honors,  who,  although  amply 
qualified  by  nature  and  education  for  the  highest  roles 
of  the  drama,  and,  indeed,  to  "grasp  with  one  bound 
the   diadem   of  the   tragic   muse,"    had    yet  resolved  to 

appeal  to  the  well  known  critical  intelligence  of  a  P 

audience,  in  the  humbler  and  subordinate  character,  etc., 
etc. 

"  You  disarm  hostile  criticism  by  this  course,"  said  Mug- 
ford, "  for  K of  the  Eagle,  especially,  is  very  fond  of 

showing  his  ignorance  by  affecting  the  censorious.  You 
should  have  seen  what  he  scribbled  about  my  Hamlet,^''  con- 
tinued the  actor,  with  a  bitter  smile  ;  "  my  Hamlet,  which  for 
ten  long  years  stood  the  ordeal  of  a  York  circuit,  and  was 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  217 

only  kept  out  of  London  by  malignant  envy,  and  the 
artist's  blight — bronchitis." 

The  various  potent  arts  employed,  added  to  the  fame  of 
Elinor's  beauty,  which  spread  rapidly  in  the  small  provin- 
cial town,  brought  a  house  quite  respectable,  both  in  num- 
bers and  character,  and  Elinor  got  through  her  task  with 
great  credit  and  eclat.  It  is  true  that  if  she  had  been  a 
cook,  as  Mr.  EadcliJffe  observed,  with  an  odd  mixture  of 
cynicism  and  compliment,  her  good  looks  and  "  make  up  " 
would  have  carried  her  through  ;  and,  as  she  did  not  hap- 
pen to  clash  with  the  interest,  real  or  imaginary,  of  any  of 
the  Dramatis  Personse,  she  happily  escaped  any  of  those  lit- 
tle annoyances  and  embarrassments  with  which  veteran  ex- 
perts are  fond  of  strewing  the  path  of  the  hapless  beginner. 
The  only  exception  to  so  fortunate  a  rule  being  found  in 
Miss  Adeline  De  Vere,  who,  in  her  enthusiasm  for  the  good 
of  the  establishment,  and  in  her  willingness  to  gain  credit 
for  generosity,  occasionally  informed  Elinor  that  "she 
would  do,"  and  "  not  to  be  afraid,"  in  stage  whispers 
quite  as  audible  to  the  audience  as  to  the  young  lady  her- 
self 

The  result  of  this  auspicious  commencement  appeared 
the  next  morning,  first  in  laudatory  notices  from  the  press 
— including  a  long  communication  from  "A  Friend  of  the 
Drama,"  who  was  in  fact  an  old  Englishman,  who  kept  a 
drygoods'  shop  in  the  same  street,  and  to  whom  Grinder  had 
graciously  condescended  to  get  rather  deeply  in  debt — and, 
secondly,  in  the  shape  of  a  business  communication  from 
Grinder  himself,  wherein,  after  congratulating  Miss  Grey 
on  her  brilliant  dehut^  he  proposed  for  her  acceptance  an 
engagement  for  the  season  to  play  "  First  Walking  Ladies, 
and  a  portion  of  the  light  ccwnedy,"  in  consideration  of  ten 
dollars  per  week,  and  a  clear  third  benefit,  to  take  place  in 
the  last  month  of  the  season  ;  very  fine  terms,  as  he  added, 
for  a  novice.  Elinor  thought  this  was  not  precisely  the 
form  in  which  she  would  have  described  them,  but  as  her 
resolution  had  been  taken  to  accept  them  whatever  they 
might  be,  she  acquiesced,  and  became  that  day  a  regularly 

10 


218  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

enrolled  member  of  the  "  Powerful  Stock  Company  "  of 
the  P Lyceum. 


CHAPTER  XXYII. 


ID-WINTER   came   and    Elinor   was   still  drudging 
patiently  on  in  the  laborious  station  to  which  she 


M 

had  bound  herself.  She  had  first  thought  when  resolving 
to  quit  Vernon's  protection,  that,  by  leaving  no  clue 
behind,  and  by  changing  her  name,  she  might  elude  pur- 
suit until  such  a  time  as  she  might  be  able  to  judge  of  the 
success  of  her  experiment.  Mrs.  Maberly  had  exerted 
herself  to  induce  a  deviation  from  her  scheme  in  this 
respect.  She  pointed  out  to  Elinor  the  distress  she  would 
inflict  upon  those  who  had  been  such  kind  friends,  should 
she  leave  them  in  ignorance  of  either  her  projects  or  where- 
abouts. Such  a  course,  too,  would,  be  open  to  misconstruc- 
tion in  other  ways.  Better  state  to  Mr.  Yernon  fairly  and 
candidly  her  motives  for  the  step  she  had  taken  and  what 
she  hoped  to  achieve  thereby.  Better  to  let  him  under- 
stand, also,  that  her  aunt  was  to  accompany  and  watch 
over  her.  Otherwise,  in  his  anxiety,  he  would  be  institut- 
ing researches  which,  whether  successful  or  not,  would  be 
equally  distressing  and  embarrassing, 

Mrs.  Maberly's  policy  was  adopted,  and  with  the  result 
she  anticipated.  For,  while  Oliver  Vernon  deprecated  her 
course,  and  indulged  in  much  tender  reproach  that  she  had 
not  at  first  taken  him  into  her  confidence,  he  had  too  much 
sagacity  not  to  perceive  that  having  gone  so  far  as  it  had,  it 
would  be  wise,  for  her  own  satisfaction,  that  Elinor  should 
push  her  experiment  to  a  definite  conclusion.  It  was  there- 
fore agreed  that  Grace  and  himself  should  correspond  with 
her,  and  that  she  should  keep  them  advised  of  all  that  befel, 
with  a  general  understanding  that  if  her  project  were 
not,  after  a  reasonable  time,  crowned  with  a  success  which 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  219 

might  justify  its  future  prosecution,  she  should  consent  to 
abandon  it.  Elinor's  plan,  in  which  Grinder  expressed  a 
willingness  to  assist  her,  was  to  endeavor,  after  a  few  months 
of  practice,  to  make  an  appearance  in  the  metropolis  ; 
a  scheme,  which  Mrs.  Maberly  approved,  because  she 
believed  it  would  bring  matters  to  a  more  speedy  conclu- 
sion. The  worthy  lady,  while  she  believed  her  niece  to 
possess  unusual  talents,  had  little  faith  in  her  making  any 
great  success  as  an  actress :  and  anything  short  of  this  she 
believed  would  not  satisfy  Elinor's  ambition.  She  there- 
fore thought  it  desirable  that  the  point  might  be  demon- 
strated pro  or  con  with  as  little  delay  as  possible. 

Without  anticipating  as  to  whether  Mrs.  Maberly  was  right 
or  wrong,  we  may  say  that  Elinor  exhibited  many  quali- 
ties such  as  are  generally  supposed  to  contribute  to  histri- 
onic success.  Setting  aside  her  physical  advantages  of  voice 
and  person,  she  had  uncommon  self-possession,  a  great  deal 
of  tact,  and  a  very  retentive  memory.  On  the  other  hand, 
her  nature  was  rather  too  positive  to  be  readily  merged  or 
sunk  in  artificial  character,  and  although  it  contained  a 
well  of  real  enthusiasm  and  a  genuine  love  and  apprecia- 
tion of  art,  there  was  a  something  either  of  self-respect  or 
hauteur  unfavorable  to  that  abcmdon  which  has  so  much  effect 
in  shaping  and  captivating  the  popular  taste.  "  All  you 
want.  Miss  Grrey,  is  to  shove  on  steam,"  advised  Grinder, 
"  The  folks  likes  them  as  keeps  up  a  thunderin'  excitement. 
It's  all  very  well  to  come  the  statooesque  and  quiet  dodge 
for  the  boxes,  after  you've  knocked  the  pit  and  gallery  by 
tearin'  round  and  a  hollerin'.  Didn't  you  hear  Mugford 
yell  the  other  night  in  that  ere  Tent  Scene  in  Richard  f — 
and  didn't  you  hear  'em  yellin'  and  screechin'  back  at  him  ?  ' 
— That's  what  takes  'em.  Why  ?  Cos  they  think  the 
more  noise  you  make,  the  more  earnest  you  air." 

"  All  stuff  and  nonsense.  Miss  Grey,"  said  Kadcliffe  pri- 
vately to  her.  "  These  people  know  nothing  of  acting 
either  before  or  behind  the  curtain.  The  only  proper  thing 
to  do  would  be  to  get  a  season  or  two  of  practice  in  some 
first  class  English  theatre.     Even  then,  if  you  came  back 


220  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

they'd  say  your  style  was  affected,  or  that  you  spoke  with 
what  they  call  an  'English  accent,'  because  you  didn't  talk 
through  your  nose." 

"  People  o?o,  however,  get  money  and  reputation  by 
the  stage  in  this  countrj^,"  said  Elinor  rather  despondingly. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  Kadcliffe,  with  acrimony,  "  sometimes 
they  do.  If  a  man  has  the  lungs  of  a  bull  and  knows  how 
to  use  them  like  one,  he  can  get  both.  Or  if  he  can  dance 
jigs  and  sing  comic  songs  handily,  and  knock  people  about 
with  stuffed  sticks,  and  '  gag'  with  good  grace,  he's  safe  to 
get  them.  But  any  one  who  imagines  that  the  education 
and  manners  of  a  lady  or  a  gentleman  are  of  any  use  for 
the  purpose  is  sadly  mistaken.  Oh,  very  good  people  get 
on,  too,  occasionally,"  he  added  more  gently,  "but  after  all, 
success  is  hardly  worth  having  in  a  calling  wherein  such  as 
those  who  do,  get  the  highest  prizes." 

"  Perhaps  the  audience  here  is  not  of  the  most  intelligent 
character,"  suggested  Elinor. 

"  Very  often  as  good  in  the  small  towns  as  the  average  in 
the  large  ones,"  answered  the  actor,  "  The  real  truth  is 
that  the  best  classes  of  the  community  avoid  the  theatre 
now-a-days." 

Various  conversations  such  as  these  did  not  tend  to  im- 
press Elinor  with  the  idea  that  Mr.  Radcliffe  took  a  very 
cheerful  view  of  the  calling  he  had  adopted,  and  one 
day  when  the  acquaintance  was  somewhat  riper  she  ven- 
tured to  say  as  much. 

"I  entered  the  profession.  Miss  Grey,  from  necessity," 
he  replied,  gloomily,   "  not  from  choice." 

She  begged  his  pardon.  She  did  not  suppose  he  had 
been  bred  to  it. 

"  Nor  was  I.  As  you  may  have  guessed,  I  have  seen 
better  days.  Not  that  I  mean  to  disparage  the  stage,  which 
is  as  elevated,  theoretically  at  least,  as  any  other  pursuit. 
But  until  past  middle  life  I  never  dreamed  of  having 
recourse  to  it.  I  commenced  indeed,  when  almost  an  old 
man — quite  so  in  experience  if  not  in  years ; — as  it  was,  I 
was  past  five-and-forty." 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  221 

Elinor  was  silent,  and  Eadcliffe  did  not  appear  disposed 
to  extend  his  confidences  further  than  to  remark  that 
he  had  been  rather  successful  in  youth  as  an  amateur, 
which  had  led  him  to  turn  to  the  theatre  for  a  livelihood 
when  the  necessity  had  unexpectedly  arisen. 

As  time  wore  on,  he  took  more  and  more  interest  in 
Elinor,  often  giving  her  useful  advice  and  instruction  in 
regard  to  her  characters  and  the  business  of  the  stage. 
The  old  man  drank  rather  freely  at  times,  but  although 
crusty  and  irritable  with  others,  he  was  never  churlish 
with  her.  He  never  lost,  indeed,  the  manner  of  gentle- 
manly deference  which  his  early  associations  taught  him 
to  observe  toward  one  who  was  so  unmistakably  a  gentle- 
woman. He  excused  his  habits,  the  effect  of  which  was 
occasionally  too  obvious,  on  the  score  of  his  health. 

"  I  used  to  drink  for  excitement,  or  to  drown  care.  Miss 
Grrey,"  he  said  apologetically.  "  There's  no  less  need  on 
the  latter  score  now; — but  I  lack  strength  sometimes  to 
get  through  my  work." 

Elinor  thought  with  a  shudder  of  her  father's  case,  and 
partly  for  the  sake  of  his  memory,  partly  because  of  her 
liking  for  the  lonely  old  player,  she  bethought  herself 
of  trying  to  make  his  situation  more  comfortable.  She 
gathered  from^  what  he  said,  that  he  was  ill  at  ease  in  his 
lodging,  and  finding  one  da}^  that  there  was  a  vacant  upper 
room  at  Mrs.  Hawkins,  she  proposed,  after  consultation 
with  her  aunt,  that  he  should  take  it.  He  might  use  their 
little  parlor,  which  was  always  warm,  and  in  some  sort 
cheerful,  for  writing  and  study.  Radcliffe  gratefully  as- 
sented to  the  suggestion,  and  the  more  readily  because 
he  thought  he  might  be  of  greater  professional  service 
to  Elinor  through  such  an  arrangement.  He  was  an  adept 
in  histrionic  mysteries  and  devices,  and  took  pleasure  in 
imparting  them  to  one  so  quick  and  eager  in  availing 
of  his  teachings.  He  taught  her  much  that  was  new  in 
the  art  of  modulation,  and  in  that  of  the  natural  relation 
of  action  to  passion.  He  taught  her  how  to  make  exits 
and  entrances,  and  how  to  handle  and  manage  her  train 


222  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

when  the  character  called  for  such  an  appendage.  He 
taught  her  the  science  of  "making  up,"  and  its  intricate 
relation  to  lights  and  distances.  All  these  and  other 
similar  instructions  were  valuable  to  Elinor,  who  grew 
more  anxious  to  make  rapid  advance  in  the  mechanism  of 
her  art,  as  the  time  grew  shorter  and  shorter  which  sepa- 
rated her  from  the  period  of  her  proposed  debut  in  the 
great  city. 

William  Radcliffe  was  a  man  whose  character  was  the 
legitimate  product  of  a  peculiar  experience.  What  it  might 
bo  in  original  constituents — what  it  might  have  become,  if 
subjected  through  life  to  opposite  vicissitudes — we  may 
surmise,  and  hereafter  have  better  opportunity  to  judge. 
In  early  years  he  had  been  the  victim  of  two  most  potent 
breeders  of  selfishness — the  law  of  entail  and  misdirected 
parental  affection.  He  grew  to  be  an  old  man  before  he 
quite  realized  the  mischief  which,  in  his  particular  case, 
these  teachers  had  inflicted  on  his  character ;  and  when  he 
did  realize  it,  the  effect  seemed  ineradicable.  Formerly  he 
had  accepted  the  theory  that  the  interests  and  comfort  of 
all  those  with  whom  be  came  in  contact  ought  of  right  to 
give  way  to  his  own.  As  a  child,  he  had  permitted  others 
to  be  punished  for  his  own  misdeeds ;  as  a  man,  he  had 
even  conspired  that  they  should  be.  This  moral  obliquity 
had  colored  his  whole  career,  and  even  now  he  murmured 
ceaselessly  at  the  hardness  of  fortune  which  had  brought 
him  to  a  position  which  was  strictly  the  natural  fruit  of 
the  seed  he  had  sown.  Providence,  not  he,  was  to  blame 
that  he  found  himself  going  down  to  the  grave  a  miserable 
and  dishonored  man.  He  was  unable  to  perceive  the  jus- 
tice of  a  power  which  had  launched  him  into  life  with 
wealth,  health,  and  every  element  of  material  prosperity, 
to  condemn  him  at  its  close  to  be  stripped  of  each  and  all 
those  advantages  he  had  learned  to  regard  as  inalienable 
rights. 

The  persons  and  motives  which  had  surrounded  the  later 
years   of  his   life  had   rather  tended  to  confirm  than  to 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  223 

weaken  his  convictions  as  to  the  selfishness  of  his  race. 
The  miserable  bickerings  and  jealousies  of  the  petty  cir- 
cles in  which  he  had  moved,  although  they  excited  his 
contempt,  only  did  so  because  of  the  minuteness  of  their 
causes  and  objects.  It  was  but  the  world  in  little.  Life 
was  but  a  battle  in  which  every  man's  arm  was  for  ever 
raised  against  all  others  he  encountered,  to  strike  or  to 
defend. 

When  he  encountered  Elinor  Grazebrook,  his  liking 
sprang  from  affinity  of  manners  and,  in  some  sort,  culture, 
rather  than  from  any  moral  sympathy  or  appreciation  ;  and 
this  sentiment  was  naturally,  at  the  outset,  a  reciprocal  one. 
After  a  time,  however,  as  each  got  to  see  and  know  more 
of  the  inner  life  of  the  other,  their  mutual  estimates  be- 
came of  a  more  complicated  character.  The  old  man,  so 
far  as  he  practised  any  scheme  of  life,  was  the  slave  of  a 
mere  bald  expediency  ;  the  young  woman  was  the  willing 
and  devout  disciple  of  a  pure,  self-sacrificing  duty.  It  was 
not  strange  that  each  came  to  regard  the  other  as,  in  a  man- 
ner, a  natural  curiosity. 

Eadcliffe  came  to  discover — although  names  were  scru- 
pulously concealed — that  Elinor  had  left  a  luxurious  home 
and  a  comparatively  high  social  position  ;  that  such  a  step 
was  not  dictated  by  necessity,  but,  whether  mistaken  or 
otherwise,  by  an  absolute  conviction  of  right  ;  that, 
although  filled  with  the  ambition  of  youth  and  enthusiasm, 
she  would  yet  elect,  if  it  must  be  so,  to  remain  in  the  hum- 
bler ranks  of  a  wearing  and  contemned  profession  rather 
than  forego  that  conviction.  Then  he  came  to  reflect  on 
the  circumstances  and  motives  which  led  to  his  own  situa- 
tion, and  the  contrast  brought  to  his  cheek  something  like 
a  flush  of  shame.  Had  he  lived  all  these  years  to  derive 
his  first  lessons  in  the  great  principle  of  sacrifice  from  the 
example  of  a  simple,  inexperienced  girl  ? 

As  the  season  wore  on,  he  fell  ill — very  ill,  and  was 
obliged  for  a  time  to  forego  his  duties  at  the  theatre.  And 
Elinor  and  good  Mrs.  Maberly — who  had  not  fancied  him 
over  much  at  first,  but  who  came  to  forget  all  prejudice  in 


224  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

her  compassion  for  the  lonely,  friendless  old  man — watclicd 
and  tended  him,  and  dispensed  with  much  of  their  daily 
comfort  for  his  sake,  until  he  gradually  became  convales- 
cent. There  could  be  no  quid  pro  quo  about  this,  he  re- 
flected, for  what  could  they  hope  from  such  as  he  ?  Elinor 
would  trudge  through  the  snow  to  rehearsal,  leaving  Mrs. 
Maberly  to  attend  to  the  wants  of  the  invalid ;  and  on 
these  occasions  the  good  lady  would  speak,  in  the  warmth 
of  her  honest,  straightforward  nature,  of  the  courage  and 
nobleness  which  her  niece  had  displayed  in  facing  this  hard 
life,  after  the  ease  and  luxury  to  which  she  had  been  accus- 
tomed ;  and  say  that  while  she  did  not  quite  like  her  choice 
of  a  profession,  yet  that  its  very  drawbacks  and  difficulties 
enhanced  the  heroism  of  the  course  Elinor  had  pursued. 

Slowl}'  and  by  degrees — for  it  took  months  to  bring 
about  the  change — a  new  light  seemed  to  dawn  upon  Ead- 
cliffe's  darkened  nature.  The  gentle  and  awakening  influ- 
ences to  which  he  was  now  exposed  gradually  wrought  in 
his  breast  a  perception  of  truth — a  reverence  for  good,  to 
which  its  previous  history  had  been  a  stranger.  The  con- 
stant reference  to  the  idea  of  duty  which  ran  through  all 
the  intercourse  between  these  two  women,  and  which  at 
first  had  only  excited  in  him  a  sort  of  half  incredulous 
curiosity,  came  in  time  to  arouse  his  reasoning  fliculties, 
and  finally  to  enforce  his  assent.  Where  he  had  before 
been  bitter  and  cynical,  he  grew  to  be  mild  and  charitable. 
Where  he  had  before  attributed  to  all  about  him  the  most 
selfish  and  corrupted  motives,  he  now  strove  to  interpret 
generous  and  kindly  ones.  He  became  more  exact  and 
conscientious  in  the  performance  of  his  professional  duties; 
and  he  curbed  in  a  manner  which  surprised  all  who  knew 
him,  his  propensity  for  strong  drink.  His  health  was 
indeed  broken  ;  but  the  peevishness  wherewith  he  had 
been  wont  to  bewail  his  aihnents,  now  all  but  disappeared, 
and  he  bore  their  load  with  a  new-born  meekness  and 
resignation. 

Elinor  would  sometimes  speaks— without  mentioning  his 
name — of  the  lofty  character  of  her  former  guardian,  and 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  225 

of  tlie  happiness  and  comfort  his  philanthropic  hand  had 
scattered  in  every  direction  around  him. 

"Would,"  said  Radcliffe  one  day,  "would  that  I  too 
might  do  some  good  before  I  die." 

"  To  wish  it  earnestly,"  Elinor  replied,  "  I  have  heard 
him  say,  is  to  gain,  sooner  or  later,  the  power  to  do  it."" 

Radcliffe  shook  his  head  with  a  sigh.  "I  fear  in  my  case 
it  is  too  late." 

Elinor  and  her  aunt  often  talked  together  with  surprise 
and  gratification  of  the  change  which  seemed  to  be  work- 
ing in  Radcliffe's  character, 

"  Out  of  Evil  cometh  Good,"  said  Mrs.  Maberly  solemn- 
ly. "  This  man  has  been,  perhaps,  the  instrument  of  much 
wrong.  God  has  sent  us  here  to  awaken  his  conscience 
while  he  is  yet  on  earth." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


GRINDER,  who  sometimes  surprised  people  by  unex- 
pected glimpses  of  good  feeling,  had  proposed  that, 
in  view  of  his  health,  it  might  be  of  service  to  Mr.  -Rad- 
cliffe to  take  a  trip  to  New  York.  It  was  past  mid- winter, 
and  it  was  necessary  if  Elinor  was  to  have  an  appearance 
in  the  spring,  to  settle  about  the  time,  before,  as  he  said, 
"all  the  nights  should  be  filled  up." 

Radcliffe  gladly  accepted  the  proffered  furlough,  and 
undertook  the  negotiation  for  Elinor  with  great  willing- 
ness, although  he  anticipated  difficulty  in  bringing  it  to  a 
successful  issue.  However,  he  thought  he  could  make  out 
a  better  case  for  the  managerial  ear  than  Grinder  was  likely 
to  do.  Elinor  possessed  qualities  which  escaped  the  appre- 
ciation of  that  gentleman,  but  which  would  recommend 
her,  if  properly  represented,  to  the  more  discerning  director 
of  the  Metropolis.     Besides,  Radcliffe  had  some  acquaint- 

10* 


226  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

ance  with  the  latter,  to  whom  the  old  actor  was  known  as 
a  person  of  taste  and  education. 

As  Radcliffe  foresaw,  he  had  great  trouble  in  making  an 
arrangement.  Mr.  Badger,  the  manager  of  the the- 
atre, Broadway,  had  really  no  time  open.  He  was  filled 
witli  stars  and  new  plays  clear  up  to  June.  His  company 
was  very  strong,  and  the  principals  objected  to  supporting 
any  but  artists  of  recognised  position.  He  had  been  much 
abused  by  the  press  for  giving  openings  to  novices.  It  had 
injured  his  establishment  very  much.  He  really  couldn't 
afford  to  be  always  at  loggerheads  with  the  critics.  Rad- 
cliffe persisted  with  an  earnestness  he  would  certainly  have 
exhibited  for  no  one  else  than  Elinor.  He  assured  the 
reluctant  Badger  that  Miss  Grrey  was  no  amateur  :  she  had 
been  hard  at  work  for  months,  had  perfect  ease,  great  per- 
sonal advantages,  and  was  a  lady  of  cultivation  and  refine- 
ment. Badger  at  this  point  softened  so  far  as  to  say  that 
he  miglit  possibly  find  the  young  lady  a  night  or  so  if  she 
could  guarantee  the  dead  expenses,— naming  a  sum  equal 
to  about  three  times  the  actual  ones.  To  this  Radcliffe 
demurred,  but  proposed  she  should  "  share"  after  a  stated 
sum.  After  a  deal  of  sparring  and  discussion  this  diffi- 
culty appeared  on  the  point  of  adjustment,  whereupon  a 
new  one  promptly  presented.  It  was  quite  out  of  the  ques- 
tion,, the  manager  declared,  to  allow  the  debutante  to  appear 
in  either  of  the  old  pieces  ;  Juliel  or  Pauline  was  impossi- 
ble ;  either  would  kill  the  lady's  success  before  she  appear- 
ed. The  public  were  perfectly  sick  of  all  the  old  plays ; 
besides,  how  could  she  stand  comparison  with  Miss  Heavy- 
port  in  tragedy,  or  with  Mrs.  Furbelow  in  comedy  ? 

Finally,  and  with  infinite  pains  and  pertinacity,  it  was 
agreed  that  EUnor  should  attempt  the  heroine  of  a  new 
drama  which  was  to  be  brought  out  in  a  brief  interval  which 
might  be  made  between  two  star  engagements,  and  which 
had  been  written  chiefly  with  an  eye  to  the  talents  of  Mr. 
Howlfort,  the  leading  man.  There  was  reason  in  Badger's 
assertion  that  by  this  plan  there  need  be  no  invidious 
comparisons,  and  this  was  positively  the  very  best  he  could 


BEFORE   THE    STORM.  227 

do.     On  the  night  the  bargain  was  concluded,  Kadcliffe 

started  for  P ,  with  EHnor's  new  part  in  his  pocket, 

and  after  having  concluded  every  necessary  arrangement. 

The  old  actor  had  more  than  one  reason  for  hastening 
his  departure  from  town.  It  was  not  alone  that  he  had 
accomplished  the  object  of  his  visit — not  alone  that  the 
noise  of  the  great  city  distracted  and  disgusted  him — there 
was  a  stronger  incentive  and  one  that  would  brook  no 
delay.  In  coming  from  the  box-ofi&ce  of  the  theatre  for 
the  last  time,  he  saw  just  for  a  moment  a  female  face  which, 
notwithstanding  the  lapse  of  many  years  since  he  saw  it 
last,  he  instantly  recognised.  He  trembled  with  anxiety 
lest  this  recognition  had  been  mutual.  If  such  were  indeed 
the  case,  he  would  have  a  motive  for  quitting,  not  only 
New  York,  but  even  the  country  itself.  All  that  night  he 
pondered  and  reasoned  with  himself  as  to  the  best  course 
to  be  pursued.  He  was  not  sure  that  he  had  been  seen — 
but  if  he  were  ?  The  change  that  had  recently  come  over 
his  character  bore  its  fruit  here,  and  when  he  arrived  at 

P ,   he  had  resolved  to  remain  there  and  to  confront 

whatever  might  betide. 

A  few  days  after,  Elinor  and  Mrs.  Maberly  left  for  New 
York.  All  had  been  settled  by  E,adcli£fe,  even  to  the  secur- 
ing of  apartments  for  the  term  of  their  stay.  The  old 
man  did  his  utmost  in  the  brief  interim  toward  preparing 
his  pupil  for  her  ordeal,  and  wrote  her  a  long  letter  filled 
with  fresh  advice  and  injunctions  after  her  departure.  The 
new  piece  had  already  been  some  time  in  preparation,  and 
after  two  or  three  additional  rehearsals  would  be  ready  for 
production.  The  anxious  study  of  her  part,  and  the 
arrangement  of  her  dresses,  completely  engrossed  the  time 
of  both  Elinor  and  her  aunt,  and  the  critical  day  for  the 
final  rehearsal  quickly  arrived. 

Wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken,  there  are 
periodical  complaints  about  "the  Decline  of  the  Drama." 
There  can  be  little  doubt  but  that  the  complaints  are  based 
on  a  substantial  ground-work  of  facts,  and  friends  of  the 


228  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

Stage  are  more  ready  to  admit  their  existence  because  it  is 
their  fashion  to  maintain  as  an  axiom  that  this  declension 
will  never  sink  so  far  as  to  desuetude  ;  that  is  to  say,  that 
the  Stage  possesses  an  inherent  vitality  which  must  always 
prevent  its  extinction,  however  it  may  appear,  from  time 
to  time,  to  be  in  a  state  of  decay.  A  candid  examination 
of  evidence  certainly  establishes  this  conclusion ; — that, 
whether  as  regards  the  current  grade  of  its  literature, 
the  character  and  education  of  its  professors,  or  the  average 
intelligence  and  critical  acumen  of  its  patrons,  the  insti- 
tution has  been,  for  many  years  past,  slowl}^  but  surely 
tending  downwards.  In  England  the  initial  date  of  this 
movement  is  generally  considered  to  be  that  which  ter- 
minated the  privilege  of  the  Patent  Theatres.  It  is  every- 
where supposed  to  be  accelerated  by  the  increasing  taste 
for  Italian  Opera,  together  with  that  for  Concerts,  Lectures, 
Minstrelsy,  and  the  heterogeneous  mass  of  "Entertain- 
ments" which  of  late  have  become  so  numerous  and  so 
popular.  Some  think  the  Stage  is  the  natural  enemy  of 
the  Press,  as  Theology  is  declared  to  be  that  of  Science ; 
and  deduce  that,  as  in  all  such  contests,  the  weaker  must 
eventually  go  down.  Others  maintain  that  in  a  day  of 
railroads,  all  theatres  except  the  great  metropolitan  ones  in 
each  country,  must,  in  the  nature  of  things,  sink  first  into 
insignificance,  and  finall}^  into  oblivion.  No  doubt,  there  is 
a  certain  amount  of  logical  truth  in  each  of  these  assumptions, 
more  especially  as  applied  to  England  and  her  colonies. 

But  in  America,  where  the  complaint  of  the  Decline  of 
the  Drama  has  been  as  loud  as  anywhere — and  to  say 
the  least,  where  it  has  been  equally  well  founded — there 
are,  and  have  been,  peculiar  causes  at  work  which  are  not 
so  generally  taken  into  account  as  their  relative  importance 
deserves.  The  causes  enumerated  have  had  their  weight 
on  both  sides  the  Atlantic,  but  on  this,  others  are  to 
be  superadded.  Dramatic  literature,  artistic  culture,  the 
quality  of  audiences,  are  clearly  matters  which  act  upon 
and  reciprocally  produce  each  other.  Any  one  can  under- 
stand   how    the    practised    and   fastidious   judgment    of 


BEFORE   THE  STORM.  229 

audiences  of  whom  Johnson,  Goldsmith,  Swift,  were  the 
exponents,  produced  different  results  from  such  as  arise  in 
our  day  through  the  critical  fiat  of  the  frequenters  of  the 
Surrey,  the  Britannia,  or  the  City  of  London,  It  is  clear 
enough  that  our  American  Stage  would  gain  in  dignity 
should  such  classes  as  are  represented  by  the  names  of 
Everett,  Bryant,  Irving,  support  its  honors  and  adjudge 
its  meeds  in  lieu  of  the  b'hoys  of  the  Bowery,  or  even 
the  shopmen  of  Broadway.  Neither  does  it  require  de- 
monstration to  show  how  the  seductive  strains  of  the 
Italians  have  robbed  the  theatre  of  much  of  its  old-time 
support  from  the  wealthy  and  refined ;  or  that  the  other 
forces  assigned  have  had  their  weight  and  potency.  Yet 
such  is  the  love  for  public  diversions  in  America,  and 
such  the  passion  for  pictorial  illustration — one  fruit  perhaps 
of  the  ultra  simplicity  which  characterizes  our  govern- 
mental forms  and  usages — that  these  drawbacks  might 
have  been  overcome,  or  their  influence  to  a  great  extent 
neutralized,  but  for  the  agency  which  remains  to  be  sug- 
gested. 

This  agency — or  rather  this  deficiency — consists  in  the 
absence  of  almost  everything  in  the  shape  of  standards  or 
examples^  which,  until  supplied,  will  inevitably  keep  the 
American  Theatres  in  a  crude  and  transitional  condition. 
There  is  no  school,  and  there  is  not  the  species  of  critical 
education  which  could  foster  and  nourish  the  germs  of 
such  a  thing  even  if  they  existed.  That  which  takes 
the  place  of  a  school  is  the  well  known  mosaic,  com- 
pounded of  the  traditions  and  conventionalities  of  the 
English  stage,  whose  artistic  memories  receive  occasional 
leaven  and  reinforcement  from  actors  of  English  birth, 
which  latter  are  (for  the  most  part)  the  only  ones  tolerated 
in  our  larger  theatres  to  sustain  principal  lines  of  character. 
It  follows  that  the  side  of  the  drama  which  teaches — the 
side  which  is  especially  presumed  "  to  hold  as  'twere  the 
mirror  up  to  nature — "  that  is  to  say,  comedy  of  the  first- 
rate  stamp — is  seldom  in  rapport  with  the  audience,  although 
the  latter  will,  sometimes  for  fashion's  sake,  sometimes  to 


230  DANGERriBI.D'3   REST;    OR 

affect  discernment,  pretend  that  it  is  so.  There  is  nothing 
national  about  such  a  stage,  because,  to  the  real  eye  of 
the  audience,  there  is  nothing  natural.  •  Now  the  stage  is 
respectable,  most  especially  in  utilitarian  times,  just  in  pro- 
portion as  its  simulation  re-produces  types  with  elegance 
and  accuracy  with  which  the  spectator  is  suflEiciently 
familiar  to  endorse  their  fidelity.  [This,  of  course,  refers 
to  Comedy,  the  qualities  of  Tragedy  being  chiefly  heroic 
and  ideal,  not  human  and  social.]  How  does  this  rule 
apply  to  the  acting  of  "  Standard  English  Comedies"  in 
our  theatres?  The  actor  who  comes  here,  having  been 
well  taught,  and  who  if  he  has  not  had  the  opportunity 
of  mingling  at  home  in  the  highest  society  has  enjoyed  the 
next  privilege,  perhaps,  of  mingling  freely  with  many 
who  Aaye,  commences  with  conscientiousness  to  bestow  his 
copy  of  Lord  This  or  Sir  Harry  That  upon  an  American 
public.  He  finds,  to  his  disgust  and  dismay,  that  the  more 
faithful  his  picture,  the  less  it  is  relished  by  his  audience. 
He  learns,  by  degrees,  that  he  must  give  them  something 
like  the  types  with  which  they  are  familiar,  and  so  from 
the  necessity  which  exists  for  those  "  who  live  to  please" 
to  "please  to  live,"  his  Courtly  and  his  Surface  become, 
curiously  enough,  fast  young  American  gentlemen,  if  indeed 
they  are  fortunate  enough  to  escape  running  into  the 
modern  stamp  of  swell  counterjumpers.  The  metamor- 
phosis is  interesting  in  a  scientific  sense,  but  must  be 
admitted  to  be  rather  debauching  in  an  artistic  one.  For, 
while  it  is  true  that  the  bulk  of  American  theatre-goers 
would  be  unable  to  verify  the  truthfulness  of  a  representa- 
tion of  ancient  or  modern  "  high  life"  which  constitutes  so 
much  of  the  substance  of  "  Standard  Comedy,"  it  is  evident 
that  only  such  a  capacity  is  competent  to  keep  the  stage  in 
a  healthful  condition. 

We  are  not  yet,  as  a  nation,  quite  mature  enough  to  have 
our  types  or  standards  of  breeding  and  usage  sufiiciently 
crystallized  to  serve  the  dramatic  purpose  ;  we  therefore 
employ  for  the  nonce  those  of  another  nation,  with  which 
(fortunately  for  us  in  some  respects  if  not  in  this)  we  have 


BEFORE   THE  STORM,  281 

a  language  and  a  literature  in  common.  But  the  differ- 
ences in  our  social  life  and  political  institutions  are  such  as 
to  render  the  peculiarities  and  distinctions  of  a  foreign 
drama  distasteful,  and  therefore,  in  the  absence  of  a  native 
one,  is  produced  the  anomalous  hybrid  described — Ameri- 
canized English  comedj. 

The  truth  is,  that,  all  affectation  and  absurdity  aside, 
English  comedy  has  no  hold  whatever  upon  American 
sympathies.  It  is  interesting  as  a  relic — valuable  to  the 
scholar  and  the  antiquary — suggestive  in  the  closet — but 
can  retain  no  abiding  possession  of  our  stage.  Such  a 
tenure  is  reserved  for  a  really  National  Drama,  when  the 
time  for  such  an  institution  shall  have  arrived  ;  and  until 
then  our  theatre  will  continue,  as  previously  observed,  in  a 
transition  state. 

It  is,  however,  fair  to  remark  that,  meagre  as  are  the  indi- 
cations, the  Tragic  Muse  seems  to  have  a  better  chance  for 
early  and  dignified  establishment  in  America  than  her 
lighter  sister.  Tragedy  is  of  course  less  dependent  upon 
that  which  is  merely  artificial  and  conventional  in  manner 
— does  not  demand  from  its  votaries  that  attrition  with,  or 
close  observation  of,  the  distinctive  classes  illustrated.  It 
is  of  yesterday  rather  than  of  to-day.  A  man  of  average 
intelligence  may  reasonably  assume  to  have  as  just  an  idea 
of  the  speech  and  action  of  antique  heroes,  if  he  dwells  on 
the  banks  of  the  Mississippi,  as  if  he  mingled  with  the  pol- 
ished circles  of  St.  James's.  Indeed,  when  considering  the 
expanding  influences  of  vast  area,  grand  natural  scenery, 
the  absence  of  the  cramping  and  belittling  tendencies  of 
close  populations  and  sophisticated  modes  of  thought,  we 
may  even  assume  that  his  ideal  would  be  larger  and  nobler 
in  the  first  than  in  the  second  case.  This  may  furnish  a 
striking  reason  to  strengthen  other  accidental  ones  why 
the  tragic  development  promises  better  with  us  than  the 
comic.  Here,  indeed,  are  rudimental  traces  of  a  school ; 
defaced  by  vulgarisms  and  marred  by  inelegant  excres- 
cences, if  you  will — but  if  sometimes  crude,  usually  manly 
— if  often  gross,  always  strong.     Chasteness  and  polish  in 


232  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

art  are  not  inherent,  but  come  rather  through  the  slow  per- 
suasions of  toil  and  growth.  If  the  basis  be  broad,  and  the 
material  ample,  time  will  bring  the  subtilizing  and  refining. 

That  Melpomene  is  in  advance  in  the  instincts  or  pro- 
gress of  the  American  mind  is  singularly  illustrated  by 
the  habit  of  those  who  are  necessary  reflexes  of  the  popu- 
lar taste,  the  most  popular  of  whom  do  her  frequent  hom- 
age by  playing  comedy  as  if  it  were  melodrama.  Those 
who  liave  seen  much  French  acting  can  appreciate  the  effect 
of  a  precisely  opposite  tendency. 

The  paucity  of  examples — in  the  way  of  professional 
excellence — is  certainly  a  sad  drawback  to  dramatic  pros- 
perity, yet  it  is  more  to  be  regretted  than  marvelled  at. 
When  a  stage  is  rising,  its  leading  professors  are  found  to 
elevate  their  audience ;  when  it  is  sinking,  they  are  tolera- 
bly sure  to  degrade  them.  The  latter  is  not  a  gracious 
office,  nor  one  likely  to  be  attractive  for  people  capable  of 
success  in  anything  else.  The  absence  of  self-respect  which 
is  promoted  by  "playing  down"  to  the  intelligence — or 
below  it — of  a  mixed  public,  is  not  usually  found  com- 
bined with  conscientious  study  or  creative  abilit3^  The 
exaltation  of  the  same  quality,  which  is  a  consequent  when 
the  stage  assumes  the  dignity  of  a  teacher,  is  legitimately 
found  associated  with  both.  Such  is  the  case  in  the  history 
of  a  stage  when  men  like  John  Philip  Kemble,  and  his 
fellows,  are  found  at  its  head,  but  such  is  not  the  case  now. 
Talent  for  this,  as  for  any  other  use,  is  always  lying  dor- 
mant in  every  community,  but  it  does  not  appear  in  such 
walks  unless  the  public  taste  demands  and  requires  it.  In 
the  latter  event  it  is  forthcoming  at  the  exigency,  as  un- 
heard of  generals  spring  up  in  war,  but  not  otherwise. 
The  increase  of  education,  the  development  of  social  refine- 
ment and  amenities,  the  progress  of  letters,  and  the  attend- 
ant culture  of  higher  and  purer  standards  of  criticism  and 
appreciation,  can  alone  bring  about  for  the  stage  the  condi- 
tions which  may  terminate  its  debased  or  transitorial  state, 
and  prepare  the  way  for  a  reputable  and  dignified  national 
drama. 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  238 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


a  pLEAR  the  stage !" 

\J  This  was  from  the  prompter,  who  had  been  looking 
at  his  watch  every  thirty  seconds  for  the  last  ten  minutes. 
The  stage  was  dark  enough,  and  not  until  the  eye  became 
accustomed  to  the  gloom  could  it  discern  whether  it  was 
"  clear"  or  not.  Down  in  the  right-hand  corner,  by  the  pro- 
scenium, was  a  table  on  which  a  mass  of  papers,  books,  and 
play-bills  was  illuminated  by  a  single  yellow  jet  of  gas, 
springing  from  a  metallic  upright,  and  fed  by  a  piece  of 
flexible  tubing.  Here  sat  the  Stage  Manager,  a  peaked- 
looking  man,  with  black  clothes  and  red  eyes,  scratching 
away  at  to-morrow  night's  bill.  Clear  over  in  the  front,  a 
great  black  void,  with  glass  pendants  shimmering  here  and 
there,  and  a  profusion  of  drapery  in  brown-holland — for 
the  theatre  in  the  day-time  is  like  your  town-house  furni- 
ture in  summer,  or  your  railway  traveller,  and  puts  on  its 
duster  to  save  the  frippery  beneath.  There  is  a  queer,  dank 
smell,  curiously  compounded.  An  odor  of  earth  from 
under  the  stage — of  orange  peel  and  peanut  dust  from  the 
front — of  glue,  and  size,  and  paint  from  the  property  and 
painting  rooms — of  shavings  from  the  domain  of  the  car- 
penter— and,  permeating  all,  and  to  complete  the  agreeable 
amalgam,  the  flavor  of  gas  stealing  out  of  tiny  and  unstop- 
pable crevices  from  everywhere.  Then  there  are  shadowy 
forms  stalking  up  and  down,  and  across  from  wing  to  wing, 
holding  paper  "parts"  mostly,  over  which  they  are  anx- 
iously conning  and  whispering.  ISTearly  all  are  pale  and 
jaded,  so  far  as  can  be  seen  in  the  dim  light.  They  have 
that  look  which  betrays  irritation  and  exhaustion,  the 
avengers  sent  by  outraged  nature  in  the  morning,  to  expiate 
the  excessive  strain  on  the  nervous  system  of  the  night 
before.  Not  all,  however.  There  are  some  young  people 
— men  and  women — with  apparent  freshness,  color,  and 
vitality.  These  are  generally  "  utility  "  people  ;  aspirants 
full  of  ambition,  who,  not  having  the  money,  or  perchance 


234  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

the  education  to  enforce  that  hearing  at  the  top  round  of 
the  ladder  from  which  those  who  have  both  usually  so 
disastrously  tumble,  are  content  perforce  to  begin  at  the 
bottom.  Then  there  are  two  or  three  grimy-looking  men, 
with  paper  caps  and  brawny  arms,  standing  about  in  the 
entrances;  and  one  man  with  spectacles  and  Teutonic  flice, 
who  has  emerged  from  a  mysterious  hole  under  the  stage, 
and,  after  stumbling  about  a  little  among  chairs  and  music 
stands,  has  established  himself  in  the  conductor's  seat  in 
the  orchestra.  He  has  just  lighted  another  jet  of  gas  at 
his  desk,  with  the  flame  from  half  a  twisted  play-bill, 
brought  from  the  manager's  table  by  the  call-boy,  and  is 
now  torturing  and  screwing  up  his  violin. 

"  Clear  the  stage !" 

"What's  the  time,  Mr.  Huntley?"  from  the  manager. 

"  Ten  minutes  past,  sir,  and  thirty  seconds  to  boot.  We 
ought  to  commence  sharp  to-day,  for  we  rmisi  run  through 
the  burlesque  afterwards.  You  know,  sir,  Sadkyn  and 
liutgers  will  7iever  begin  to  study  their  parts  until  they've 
got  their  situations;  and  we  ought  to  have  the  scenery  and 
properties  by  Wednesday." 

"To  be  sure,  to  be  sure.  Holla!"  looking  up;  "  oh  !  I 
say !  this  won't  do.  Where's  Bloxer  ?  Come,  Bloxer,  you 
must  give  us  this  scene  in  Three !" 

The  principal  grimy-looking  man,  with  paper  cap  and 
brawny  arms,  explained  : — 

"  We  must  fit  the  traps,  sir,  some  time.  Mr.  Monkini 
swears  he  won't  jump  through  the  Enchanted  Grot,  unless 
the  Vampire  can  be  on  the  opposite  side  from  the  parallel. 
He'll  break  his  head  agen  the  braces,  he  says." 

"Oh!  nonsense.  He'll  never  hurt.  Besides,  we  won't 
take  long.  Come,  take  off  this  corridor,  and  give  us  the 
palace  flats  in  Three.  It  isn't  fair,"  continued  the  mana- 
ger, in  a  lower  voice  to  the  prompter,  "  it  isn't  fair  to  a 
novice.  The  poor  thing  '11  hardly  know  where  she  is 
at  night.     Where's  the  Property-man,  where's  Planet  ?" 

"  He's  in  his  room,  sir,  a-gildin'  of  the  magic  steeds," 
reported  the  call-boy. 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  235 

"  Just  go  and  tell  him  I  want  these  properties  now^  and 
in  every  scene.     What  is  there  on  now,  Mr.  Huntley  ?" 

"  Table  and  chairs,  centre.  An  escritoire  at  Left  Upper 
Entrance.  Scroll  for  Montford.  Purse  of  gold  and  dag- 
ger for  De  Eoseville.  Thunder  ready  right.  Lightning 
box,  ditto,"  said  Huntlej^ 

"  Oh  !  ah !  yes.  Forgot  to  put  that  in  the  headings," 
said  the  manager,  bustling  back  to  his  table.  "  Let's  see. 
'Appalling  Effect  of  the  Storm  Scene.'  That'll  do,  I  guess. 
She  must  take  us  through  the  three  nights,  anyhow.  Um, 
um !"  running  over  what  he  had  written, — "  '  Triumph- 
ant Debut  of  Miss  Ellen  Grey,  America's  Fair  Daughter, 
who  has  quitted  the  home  of  Opulence  and  Pomp,  for 
genuine  love  of  Art,  to  bow  submissive  to  the  Tragic 
Muse.  Glorious  Vindication  of  Ht^^  Youth,  Beauty,  and 
Genius.  ,^^|  How  many  seats  did  Levi  say  were  taken, 
Huntley  ?" 

"  Only  nineteen,  I  think,"  replied  the  Prompter. 

"  By  a  house  packed  from  floor  to  dome  with  the  wit, 
fashion,  and  intelligence  of  this  great  metropolis.  Um, 
um, — Get  on,  now  do,  Mr.  Huntley." 

"  Everybody  for  the  First  Act,"  roared  that  functionary. 
"  Kow,  then,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  pay  attention,  I  beg 
of  you.  '  Montford  and  De  Roseville  seated.'  Mont- 
ford and  De  Roseville  !     Come,  now,  this  is  too  bad !" 

"Who  is  it?"  inquired  the  manager. 

"  Montford  and  De  Roseville,  sir — Mr.  Howlfort  and 
Mr.  Grater.     They're  always  late." 

"  Put  'em  down — put  'em  down,  Mr.  Huntley.  We're 
paying  full  salaries  now — no  excuse  for  these  liberties. 
Half  past  eleven  is  it  ?  All  right.  Pass  on  to  Solomon's 
scene.     Who's  Solomon  ?" 

"  Solomon,  Mr.  Sadkyn.     Call  Mr.  Sadkyn,  Joe !" 

Mr.  Sadkyn,  a  stuff}^,  elderly  Englishman,  appeared  in 
obedience  to  the  shrill  summons  of  Joe,  who  took  every 
opportunity  of  screaming  at  the  utmost  power  of  his  lungs 
as  a  practical  preparative  for  future  histrionic  distinction. 
Mr.  Sadkjn  was,  however,  not  in  the  best  of  humors. 


23(5  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

"  Why  am  I  bellowed  after  in  tbis  manner  ?  I  am 
usually  late,  I  presume,  and  inattentive  to  my  business.  It 
is  my  custom  to  omit  that  regard  to  detail,  which,  how- 
ever, constitutes  the  chief  characteristic  of  the  younger 
members  of  the  profession  !" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  I'm  sure,  Mr.  Sadkyn.  I'd  no 
idea  you  were  close  by.  Here's  Mr.  Howlfort  and  Mi. 
Grater  both  late  again,  and  Mr.  Badger  says  to  go  on  with 
your  scene,"  explained  the  Prompter  in  a  conciliator}'-  man- 
ner, well  knowing  by  bitter  experience  the  sort  of  morning 
he  was  likely  to  pass  if  the  stout  and  irate  person  he 
addressed  were  unduly  displeased. 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Sadkyn,  sternly,  "  we  loill  go 
on  with  my  scene.  Where,  may  I  ask,  is  Agatha?  Is  she 
prepared  to  rush  into  my  arms  at  the  cue  ?  I  see  nothing 
of  Mrs.  Mortimer." 

"  Call  Two,  Joe — Solomon,  Agatha.  Now,  if  you 
please,  Mr.  Sadkyn,  we'll  come  to  your  cue," — '  and  deep 
damnation  deepens  with  his  smile.'  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Sadkyn  in  a  highly 
sarcastic  tone,  "  that,  perchance,  may  be  some  one  else's 
cue,  but  it  is  not  mine — at  least  in  this  instance.  My  cue 
is  '  Exit  Montford,  Left,  De  Roseville,  Right. — {Thunder. y  " 

"Oh,  come,  do  get  on,"  from  the  manager's  table. 

"  I  shall  have  much  pleasure  in  getting  on,"  said  Mr.  Sad- 
kyn, loftily,  "  whenever  we  can  approximate  with  reason- 
able accuracy  the  text  and  the  business  of  the  scene." 

"  For  G — d's  sake  fix  it  as  Mr.  Sadkyn  desires,  then, 
Huntley,"  cried  the  manager,  "  or  we  shall  stay  here  all 
day." 

An  adjustment  was  effected,  and  the  scene  proceeded 
with  the  assistance  of  Mrs.  Mortimer,  a  rather  pretty  woman 
much  over-dressed,  and  with  a  face  plastered  with  eau  de. 
heaute. 

"You  find  your  own  snuffbox,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Sad- 
kyn," hazarded  the  Prompter,  at  a  ]3oint  where  such  an 
article  was  required  in  the  "  business." 

"  Ah,  indeed,  sir  ?     You  may  remember  the  last  occasion 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  287 

when  I  obliged  the  Establishment  by  such  a  concession — 
you  may  also  recal  the  consequence.  No,  sir.  Upon  that 
occasion  I  registered  a  solemn  oath  to  furnish  no  proper- 
ties henceforth,  not  called  for  from  the  artist  by  the  most 
rigid  usages  of  the  Profession.  Have  the  goodness  to 
enter  distinctly  upon  the  Property  List  '  Snuff-box  for 
Solomon.'  " 

"As  you  please,  sir,"  submitted  Huntley.  "  Ah,  good 
morning,  Mr.  Howlfort — good  morning,  sir.  You've  kept 
the  stage  waiting  some  time,  sir." 

"  Yes,  and  Mr.  Grrater,"  ejaculated  the  Manager.  "  Upon 
my  soul,  gentlemen,  it's  very  hard.  I  don't  know  for  my 
part  what  the  profession  is  coming  to.  No  wonder  it  falls 
into  contempt  when  there's  such  a  want  of  business-like 
attention  in  trifles.  You've  no  right  to  keep  fifty  people 
dancing  attendance  upon  your  caprice  in  this  manner  !" 

Mr.  Howlfort  walked  down  the  stage  with  an  air  in- 
tended to  represent  quiet  majesty.  A  rather  handsome 
dark  man  with  an  aquiline  nose,  and  masses  of  glossy  black 
hair  heavily  oiled.  He  wore  trowsers  of  a  large  check  in 
pattern,  a  neckcloth  of  bright  colors,  and  a  black  cloak 
or  "Talma,"  faced  with  velvet.  The  principal  object  of 
his  life  appeared  to  be  that  of  striking  a  deeper  key  or 
pitch  in  using  his  voice  to  that  of  his  interlocutor,  whoever 
that  might  be.  Badger  had  rather  a  resonant  organ,  the 
product  in  some  degree  of  vast  melodramatic  practice  in 
early  life,  but  it  was  altogether  eclipsed  and  put  in  the 
wrong  both  in  sound  and  substance  by  the  reply  which  his 
exordium  elicited: — 

"  Mark  me,"  was  the  sepulchral  response.  "  'Tis  now 
some  sixteen  years  that  Pve  been  chained  to  the  oar  of 
the  Histrion's  drudgery,  and  never  did  I  know — except 
myself — a  man  who  could  study  20  lengths  from  night  to 
night  and  then  come  perfect  and  punctual  in  the  morning." 

"  It's  true,"  said  the  Manager,  somewhat  subdued,  "you 
have  had  work,  but  then  you  know,  my  dear  fellow,  we've 
had  to  rather  put  the  steam  on  this  season.  So  much 
opposition,  you  know.     There's  been  the  Hippodrome  and 

15 


238  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

the  Coliseum,  and  Zampillaerostation,  and  the  Prestidigi- 
tateur,  and  the  lectures  on  the  Megatherium.  And  it's 
certainly  been  easier  for  you  lately.  You  had  only  the 
Stranger  for  Friday  and  Master  Walter  for  Saturday." 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  Huntley,  "Mr.  Grater  has  no  such 
excuse — there's  been  very  little  study  for  him.  Nothing 
but  the  father  in  The  Phaniorros  Legacy  for  over  three 
weeks." 

Mr.  Grater  was  a  hard-featured  man  with  a  high  color 
and  watery  eyes,  and  about  whom  there  was  a  mingled 
aroma  of  onions  and — something  more  suspicious.  He 
was  the  "heavy  father,"  of  the  company,  as  Howlfort 
was  the  "leading  man,"  and  Sadkyn  the  "first  low 
comedian."  Whatever  his  emotions  at  the  reproaches 
wherewith  he  was  assailed,  he  evidently  did  not  think 
it  wise  to  give  them  utterance,  for  he  merely  smiled  a 
bitter  and  derisive  smile,  and  fell  to  poring  over  his  torn 
and  spotted  "  part." 

The  rehearsal  now  proceeded  with  few  or  no  interrup- 
tions until  a  point  toward  the  end  of  the  first  act  whereat 
everybody  called  out  "  Yes,  yes,  The  Dance !  The  Dance !" 
when  an  altercation  occurred  between  Badger  and  sundry 
delinquent  musicians  who  had  lingered  overmuch  at  their 
beer  in  the  neighboring  saloon. 

"  Xenore"  did  not  "  come  on"  until  the  second  act,  a 
circumstance  which  was  dwelt  upon  with  much  earnest- 
ness by  the  Manager,  as  affording  the  opportunity  for  so 
fine  a  "  reception."  "  You  see,  my  dear  Miss  Grey,  it  gives 
the  audience  time  to  get  settled  in  their  places,  and  to  grow 
into  a  wholesome  curiosity  for  the  advent  of  the  heroine. 
People  have  got  into  the  way  of  dining  so  late,  too,  that 
numbers  don't  come  in  till  the  first  act  is  well  on.  Be 
sure  and  recollect  to  count  ten,  slowly  and  deliberately, 
after  you  make  your  entrance,  and  then  curtsey  first  to 
the  right,  then  to  the  left,  and  finally  to  the  centre  of  the 
house.  We  usually  play  a  farce  before  an  old  piece,  but 
Sadkyn  won't  do  it  when  he  has  a  new  part,  and  to  come 
on  in  the  second  act  is  just  as  good  for  you." 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  239 

When  the  momentous  period  arrived,  the  Manager  went 
to  the  front  for  the  purpose,  as  he  said,  of  hearing  "  how 
her  voice  carried."  At  the  same  time,  Mrs.  Furbelow,  the 
leading  actress  of  the  establishment,  posted  herself  in  a 
chair  in  the  left  corner  of  the  stage  by  the  prompter's 
table,  from  which  coigne  of  vantage  she  watched  the 
progress  of  events  with  such  close  attention  as  was  com- 
patible with  carrying  on  a  whispered  flow  of  badinage  and 
criticism  with  Mr.  Gayfield  Rushton,  the  light  comedian, 
who,  notwithstanding  his  name  and  his  undeniable  good 
looks,  presented  an  unmistakably  Judean  appearance  and 
physiognomy. 

"  Dress  the  stage  now,  ladies  and  gentlemen  !  Dress  the 
stage  now,  do  P''  expostulated  the  prompter,  as  the  unhappy 
heroine  appeared  at  centre  doors,  supported  on  either  hand 
by  the  three  seedy  men,  and  the  three  meretricious-looking 
coryphees^  who  represented  the  "  nobles  and  ladies,"  sup- 
posed to  be  visitors  at  the  aristocratic  Chateau  de  Roseville. 
The  heroine  could  have  remonstrated  at  the  remarkable 
disposition  which  followed,  consisting  in  spreading  the  cha- 
racters at  equal  distances  of  four  feet  apart  on  the  arc 
of  a  circle,  of  which  the  prosceniums  supported  the  ends, 
and  whereof  she  was  the  centre.  She  was  quite  certain 
that  such  an  adjustment  was  by  no  means  likely  to  occur 
in  real  life  ;  but  remonstrance  was  useless  against  the 
weight  of  tradition  and  usage,  which  maintained  that  this 
was  the  most  easy  and  natural  relation  possible  for  people 
so  circumstanced,  and  she  held  her  peace. 

Then  there  followed  a  vast  deal  of  bickering  and  much 
censure,  chiefly  bestowed  on  the  derelict  Grater,  who  com- 
menced his  speech  opening  with — "So  please  you,  gracious 
lady,"  in  a  bewildered  manner,  reading  it  painfully  from 
his  tattered  MS. 

"  Oh !  yes,"  said  Huntley,  with  the  cutting  irony  he 
was  wont  to  employ  when  he  dared,  "you'll  be  'all  right 
at  night,'  of  course  ;  you  always  are.  How  was  it  with 
Gonsalvo  in  the  '  Legacy '  ?" 

'  I  never  missed  a  cue,"  growled  the  artist,  "  and  I  won't 


240  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

to-night.  I've  had  a  severe  cold — quite  unable  to  study. 
Miss  Grey  may  be  sure  I  won't  trouble  her  at  night.  I've 
long  waits,  and  I  can  easily  '  wing '  the  later  scenes." 

"  I  think  you'd  better,"  retorted  Huntley,  "  or  you'll 
catch  it  from  the  papers  worse  than  you  did  before." 

"  Come,  get  on,  get  on  !"  bawled  Badger  from  the  boxes. 
"  It's  quite  eleven  o'clock,  and  we  shan't  get  through  by 
daylight,  at  this  rate." 

So  the  performers  "  got  on,"  after  a  fashion,  most  of 
the  principals  being  tolerably  perfect  in  the  words,  and  the 
action  finally  getting  settled  and  determined  by  going  twice 
through  the  more  difficult  scenes.  Poor  Elinor  was  almost 
ready  to  faint  at  the  conclusion  with  the  unusual  labor  and 
responsibility.  The  most  exacting  portions  of  the  piece 
rested  upon  her  own  exertions,  and  her  previous  expe- 
rience had  ill  fitted  her  for  such  arduous  and  protracted 
effort.  She  got  through  at  last,  though  scarcely  giving 
sufficient  heed  to  the  friendly  suggestions  of  Badger,  not 
to  wear  herself  out,  and  to  save  herself,  above  all  things, 
at  night  for  the  fourth  and  fifth  acts.  The  manager,  in 
point  of  fact,  relied  rather  upon  her  youth  and  beauty  to 
"carry  her  through"  with  the  audience,  than  upon  any 
great  indications  of  dramatic  force  and  ability.  He  had 
seen  too  many  of  these  amateur  exhibitions.  They  usually 
ended  in  one  of  two  ways,  even  with  the  cleverest.  The 
public  liked  "  first  appearances  "  of  young  and  handsome 
women,  but  they  wouldn't  stand  them  afterwards  without 
the  requisite  hard  training  only  to  be  got  by  practice  and 
experience.  The  aspirants  usually  abandoned  the  stage 
in  disgust  after  a  few  essays,  or  retired  into  the  ranks — 
generally  in  the  provinces — to  struggle  up  by  the  legiti- 
mate gradations. 

EHnor  had  no  such  thoughts,  and  indeed  no  suspicion  of 
what  was  passing  in  the  minds  of  others  who  surrounded 
her.  To  her  the  future  was  a  bright  succession  of  artistic 
struggles  and  triumphs,  not  to  be  gained  without  great 
effort  indeed,  but  effort  which,  she  reasoned,  her  education 
and  her  self-reliance  would  endow  her  with  peculiar  facilities 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  241 

for  grappling  and  conquering.  She  was  so  absorbed  in 
her  task  that  she  did  hot  see,  or,  at  all  events,  did  not 
understand,  the  ill-concealed  pity  of  even  those  who  were 
most  amiable  among  her  co-laborers.  Mrs.  Furbelow,  who 
professed  the  most  tender  interest  in  her  success,  came  up 
after  rehearsal,  gorgeous  in  her  brocade,  her  lace,  and  her 
French  hat,  to  offer  advice  and  congratulations  in  advance 
on  the  "  hit "  her  dear  young  friend  was  to  make.  She 
even  proposed  to  direct  and  superintend  Elinor's  toilette 
for  the  night,  but  the  young  lady  had  fixed  ideas  on  that 
subject  as  well  as  most  others,  and  saved  herself  from  the 
most  dangerous  of  the  Furbelow  pitfalls,  by  gratefully  but 
firmly  declining  the  suggested  service.  So  she  went  home 
to  her  humble  lodging — so  different,  alas  !  from  the  happy 
home  she  had  left — and  passed  the  intervening  hours  be- 
tween the  present  and  the  impending  ordeal,  in  those  alter- 
nations of  hope  and  anxiety  which  generals  feel  on  the  eve 
of  the  battle  which  is  to  make  or  mar  them. 


CHAPTEE  XXXL 


ELIISTOR  failed.  We  cannot  as  faithful  chroniclers  essay 
to  gloss  over  or  color  the  fact,  nor  should  we  have 
any  disposition  to  do  so.  For,  setting  aside  any  more  vir- 
tuous reasons  for  candor,  there  is  a  sufScient  one  in  our 
conviction  that  she  failed  because  she  deserved  too  well  to 
succeed.     Let  us  examine  the  seeming  paradox. 

Not  the  wisest  among  men  can  tell  the  rational  cause  for 
all  his  sympathies  or  all  his  antipathies ;  but  many  even 
among  the  foolish  learn  by  experience  the  policy  of  striv- 
ing to  enlist  the  one  and  to  assuage  the  other ;  that  is,  by 
living,  talking,  acting  down  to,  or  up  to,  the  sympathetic 
or  intelligent  level  of  those  they  would  propitiate.  In  this 
country,  from  divers  causes,  the  former  process  is  most  in 
vogue      The  politician  striving  to  carry  his  election,  the 

11 


242  daxgerfield's  rest;  or 

priest  striving  to  arrest  a  mob,  the  newspaper  scribbler 
striving  to  write  "  popular  "  paragraphs,  will  proceed  upon 
the  principle  of' arguing  at  the  sympathetic  or  intelligent 
level  of  the  mass  of  their  audience.  This  is  politic,  per- 
haps (in  a  limited  and  temporary  sense),  but  it  is  not  hon- 
est, if  the  politician,  the  priest,  and  the  scribbler  are  above 
that  level ;  for  their  influence  should  be  used  to  elevate 
and  not  to  degrade.  It  is  their  business  especially  to  strive 
to  set  up  high  standards,  not  to  acquiesce  in  low  ones. 
Otherwise  they  are  untrue  to  themselves  and  to  others,  and 
this  is  what  Elinor  could  not  be. 

Her  intellect  and  her  perceptions  were  above  the  average 
level  of  those  of  her  audience.  As  a  consequence,  she  did 
not  obtain  their  average  sympathy.  Her  performance,  not- 
withstanding some  crudities,  which  were  incident  to  com- 
parative inexperience,  was  full  of  subtleties  of  apprecia- 
tion, studded  with  bits  of  nice  discrimination,  which  had 
cost  her  much  thought  and  study,  but  which  were  utterly 
lost  upon  the  majority  of  her  audience.  She  could  not,  on 
the  other  hand,  in  a  given  situation  exhibit  the  gross  ex- 
aggeration and  vicious  style  which  that  audience  would 
have  accepted  as  highly  natural  and  appropriate  to  the 
situation  in  question.  Had  she  come  with  a  great  name, 
such  reticences  would  have  been  hailed  as  the  indications 
of  genius ;  as  it  was,  they  were  considered  to  be  those  of 
inaptability  and  want  of  spirit.  It  is  only  truthful  to  add 
that  those  necessary  and  therefore  pardonable  amplifica- 
tions, which  give  force  to  style  and  breadth  to  action,  and 
whose  use  is  essential  to  effort  in  a  large  house,  Elinor's 
experience  was  not  quite  capable  of  grasping  or  coping 
with,  Radcliffe  had  labored  to  make  her  realize  such  pro- 
bable deficiencies,  and  to  induce  her  to  struggle  to  over- 
come them;  but,  although  she  placed  much  reliance  on 
his  judgment,  she  yet  thought  that  even  he  was  tainted  by 
the  current  exaggeration  of  the  day,  and  that  to  follow  his 
advice  in  that  direction  might  lead  her  too  far.  In  this  she 
was  partly  right,  but  she  did  not  perceive  that  the  low 
standards  of  the  audiences  compelled  such  a  course  as  in- 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  243 

dispensable  to  success,  however  it  might  violate  a  trae 
artistic  propriety.  ^ 

In  the  days  when  the  boxes  gave  the  law  to  the  galleries 
instead  of  the  galleries  to  the  boxes,  Elinor's  essay  would 
have  been  pronounced  a  success.  But  she  found  to  her 
dismay  that  we  have  changed  all  that.  When  Mr.  Howl- 
fort  in  the  action 'of  the  play  worked  himself  into  aphrens}'- 
of  maniacal  passion — or  what  was  meant  to  represent  it — 
on  what  appeared  to  her  very  inadequate  premises  so  far  as 
they  were  suggested  by  the  exigencies  of  the  scene,  Elinor 
felt  sure  that  no  human  being  surrounded  by  natural  con- 
ditions would  ever  have  done  the  like.  But  the  audience, 
accustomed  to  see  such  tremendous  demonstrations  arise 
from  similar  trifling  incitements,  were  clearly  of  a  different 
opinion,  and  applauded  his  bursting  veins  and  hoarse  yells 
to  the  very  echo.  Thereupon  the  poor  girl  began  to  des- 
pair; for  she  felt  certain  that  she  could  never  outrage  her 
own  sense  of  truth — her  clear-sighted  estimate  of  the  fitness 
of  things — so  far  as  to  bid  for  suffrages  by  a  similar  process. 

A  few  persons  there  were  who  understood  and  rated 
at  something  like  its  true  value  such  talent  as  the  debutante 
possessed ;  and  her  personal  beauty  certainly  attracted  an 
admiration  only  unshared  by  the  other  ladies  of  the 
dramatic  company;  yet  these  considerations  were  insuffi- 
cient to  weigh  against  the  general  verdict  that  she  had 
attempted  too  much,  and  that  she  certainly  would  never  be 
able  to  shine  as  a  star  of  any  notable  magnitude.  The  more 
good-natured  were  willing  to  rate  her  attempt  as  a  succes 
d^estime,  the  actors  whispered  "no  go"  as  they  brushed 
past  each  other  behind  the  flats  and  wings,  the  newspaper 
critics  stayed  in  the  drinking  saloons  during  the  fourth  act, 
and  the  Manager  at  the  same  time  penned  a  hasty  despatch 
to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Phelim  O'Grig  (the  Hibernian  artists), 
begging  them  to  commence  their  engagement  a  week 
earlier  than  had  been  arranged.  Elinor  was  occasionally 
honored  by  a  little  scanty  encouragement  from  a  few 
refined  looking  people  in  the  boxes,  but  when  the  curtain 
fell,  the  stentorian  shouts  for  "  Howlfort,"    and  the  very 


244  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

feeble  and  scattering  ones  for  herself,  told  too  plainly 
which  way  the  popular  current  ran. 

Then  the  players  who  had  been  so  full  of  compliment 
and  of  favorable  augury  at  the  preliminary  rehearsals, 
were  all  out  of  the  way  as  poor  Lenore  passed  through  the 
green-room  on  her  way  to  change  her  dress,  and  the  tram- 
pling carpenters  and  the  blaring  orchestra  went  crashing 
through  their  scene-shifting  and  their  waltzes  of  Straus^, 
all  heedless  that  they  were  sounding  the  knell  of  the  poor 
heroine's  hopes. 

Next  day — despite  the  kindly  persuasions  of  Mrs.  Ma- 
berly,  who  hardly  knew  whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry  for 
the  turn  things  had  taken — Elinor  saw  the  papers,  and 
therein  read  her  doom  in  various  periods  of  flippancy  and 
affected  slang.  One  was  "  surprised  that  Manager  Badger 
had  intrusted  so  responsible  a  chara(?ter  of  juvenile  tragedy 
to  a  mere  novice,  while  Miss  Heavyport — "  a  highly  finished 
and  experienced  artiste  of  forty-five  who  usually  opened  in 
Juliet — "  was  within  his  reach  and  unemployed,"  The 
writer,  moreover,  "  with  every  desire  to  make  allowances 
for  the  nervousness  incident  to  a  first  appearance  before  so 
critical  an  audience,  could  not  encourage  the  lady  with 
false  hopes  of  an  established  position  on  the  Metropolitan 
Stage."  Another  advanced  similar  deprecation  in  the 
interests  of  a  second  meteoric  expert  who  "  added  to  her 
recognised  genius  the  attraction  of  an  entirely  new  French 
drama  of  startling  interest  and  power."  (This  great  work 
— translated  and  adapted  by  the  critic  in  question — has 
since  created  an  immense  furore  by  its  sensation  scenes  and 
delightfully  immoral  tendency.)  Still  another  mature  and 
practised  censor — a  youth  of  twenty-three  who  came  last 
year  from  a  New  England  country  town — damned  un- 
reservedly both  the  play  and  the  actress,  but  admitted  a 
point  in  favor  of  Mr.  Howlfort,  "  whose  terrific  energy 
and  appalling  exhibitions  of  passion  stamped  his  rendition 
as  for  ever  ftimous,  and  worthy  of  the  very  highest  niche  in 
the  Temple  of  Dramatic  Art." 

Badger   came   after  breakfast,  and   remarking  Elinor's 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  245 

pallid  fiice  and  weary  brow,  spoke  a  few  words  of  consola- 
tion. She  might  easily  be  indisposed  that  night,  he  observ- 
ed, and  he  could  change  the  small  bills  and  put  Howlfort 
up  for  Ricliard — a  customary  and  satisfactory  resource  in  a 
dilemma.  Elinor  gratefully  snatched  at  the  chance.  She 
could  not  bear  the  idea  of  facing  the  same  audience  again 
just  at  present.  And  Badger,  after  a  remark  or  two  about 
the  weather,  and  that  she  mus'n't  mind  those  "  beastly 
papers,"  and  a  suggestion  of  the  advantages,  for  a  time,  of 
"  provincial  practice,"  bowed  himself,  rather  relieved,  out 
of  the  room. 

Then  Grinder  put  in  an  appearance,  and  was  very  kind 
and  reassuring.  George  Frederick  Cooke  hadn't  acted  in 
London  until  he  was  past  forty,  and  how  many  times  did 
she  think  Charles  Kean  had  failed  before  he  made  his  posi- 
tion there  ? — not  to  speak  of  several  native  luminaries  to  his 
mind  of  far  superior  effulgence.  The  newspapers  were  all 
"  truck," — not  nearly  such  good  judges  of  the  drama  as 

the  local  prints  of  P .     The  shrewd  fellow  knew  that 

Elinor  was  a  pretty  face  and  a  great  favorite  with  his 
audience,  and  ten  dollars  a  week  to  go  on  for  almost  any- 
thing was  a  different  thing  from  being  "  put  up  as  a  star." 
Finally,  he  advised  her  trying  the  summer  season  with  him 
for  additional  experience.  He  wouldn't  mind  a  dollar  or 
two  more  salary,  and  she  might  return  directly. 

Mrs.  Maberly  rather  demurred  at  first,  for  she  had  con- 
sidered that  this  experiment  was  to  be  a  conclusive  one. 
But  Elinor  would  not  hear  of  returning  to  the  Vernons 
directly  on  the  heels  of  this  her  first  defeat,  nor  would  she 
go  to  her  aunt's  humble  home  to  be  a  burden  upon  her. 
Since  matters  had  fallen  out  as  they  had,  she  felt  too,  that 
in  some  as  yet  unknown  way,  she  was  to  be  of  service  to 
Mr.  Kadcliflfe ;  and  this  consideration  had  weight  with  her 
aunt  as  well  as  herself,  as  she  well  knew :  so  that  finally, 
the  good  lady  consented,  consoling  herself  with  the  reflec- 
tion that  it  might  be  for  her  niece's  ultimate  advantage  to 
see  as  much  of  this  life  as  possible,  that  she  might  become 
the  more  radically  disenchanted  with  it. 


246  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

And  Elinor  meekly  returned  with  her  views  of  fame  and 
profit  sadly  dashed,  but  with  her  convictions  of  duty  in 
no  wise  changed  by  her  discomfiture.  Her  heart  sank 
within  her  as  she  contrasted  what  she  had  achieved,  with 
what  in  the  first  flush  of  youth  and  resolution  she  had  so 
sanguinely  anticipated.  She  had  taken  her  course,  how- 
ever, she  said,  and  she  must  abide  by  it.  If  the  stage  seemed 
no  more  promising  after  another  six  months,  she  might 
become  a  music  teacher — or  a  governess,  perhaps, — but 
her  pride  revolted  at  any  prospective  step  which  should 
not  at  least  be  self-supporting.     With  these  thoughts  and 

resolves  she  returned  to  P ,  and  resumed  the  laborious 

and  thankless  life  she  had  borne  so  patiently  before,  but 
which  she  had  hoped  so  fervently  when  she  departed  to 
have  left  behind  her  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  XXXn. 

GRACE  VERNON  TO   ELINOR   GRAZEBROOK. 

Uplands,  April  2(Mi,  185- 
Dearest  Nelly  : — You  have  been  nearly  six  months 
away  from  us,  and  we  all  miss  you  as  much  or  more  than 
we  did  at  first.  /  miss  you  more,  for  the  early  spring  is 
coming — the  first  at  home  for  three  years — and  the  grass 
is  springing,  and  soon  the  flowers  will  be  here,  and  the 
place  looks  so  beautiful  !  but  indeed,  darling,  Uplands 
isn't  Uplands  without  you. 

You  have  kept  your  promise,  as  papa  and  I  can  see,  in 
telling  the  unvarnished  truth  about  the  peoj)le  and  the 
scenes  wliich  surround  you.  How  much  you  must  have 
suffered,  you  who  used  to  be  so  fastidious,  to  be  bwught  in 
daily  contact  witli  so  many  mean  and  petty  natures!  And 
although  you  say  that  queer  old  gentleman,  Mr.  Radcliffe, 
has  been  such  an  aid  and  comfort  and  that,  for  all  his  cyni- 
cism he  is  a  man  of  feeling  and  refinement,  it  is  easy  to  see 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  247 

that  one  such  person  is  but  slender  relief  among  the  mass 
of  disagreeables  and  detrimentals.  How  is  it  that  people 
like  that  get  into  and  remain  in  such  ungenial  positions  ? 
It  seems  to  me  that  he  must  have  committed  some  fault — 
some  imprudence — in  early  life,  which  exiled  him  from  his 
family  and  friends ;  but  whatever  he  is,  or  may  have  been, 
I  love  him  for  his  kindness  to  you. 

Stephen  is  still  on  his  travels.  He  has  been  a  great  deal 
in  the  South  with  Mr.  Eliot,  and  they  have  been  on  a  visit 
to  Cuthbert  Boynton.  Do  you  know,  dear — but  you  know 
your  own  business  best,  at  least  in  such  matters,  if  not  in 
any  others.  That  horrid  man  whom  Eliot  likened  to  lago — 
Mr,  Kirkwood,  I  mean — spends  much  of  his  time  at  Dan- 
gerfield's  Eest ;  and  David  Greenwood  says  that  old  Mr. 
Dangerfield  is  looking  very  ill,  and  cannot  last  long.  1 
wanted  so  much  to  call  on  and  try  to  comfort  him,  but  papa 
says  no — at  least,  not  for  the  present.  I  don't  know  what 
it  all  means,  but  sometimes  I  feel  as  if  something  dreadful 
was  going  to  happen.  Aunt  Mercy  says  The  Rest  is  haunt- 
ed, and  that  Kirkwood  and  old  Dangerfield  have  dealings 
with  spirits ;  you  know  how  superstitious  she  is. 

Dear  little  Ally  is  growing  fast,  and  continually  inquires 
for  sister  Nelly — and  when  she  is  coming  home.  She  is 
not  as  shy  as  formerly,  and  is  sweetly  pretty.  Papa  is  so 
fond  of  her  as  sometimes  to  make  me  quite  jealous ;  and 
he  says  you  are  to  come  back,  and  keep  the  peace  between 
us. 

Now,  dearest,  forgive  me,  but  I  really  think  you  have 
tried  your  wild  experiment  long  enough.  Indeed,  papa 
suffers  very  much  from  your  long  absence.  He  looks  older, 
for  all  his  healthy  life  and  even  temper  ;  and  he  thinks  it 
his  duty  to  enter  one  of  those  dreadful  political  campaigns 
again — and  talks  of  his  home  being  made  desolate  when  T 
am  taken  from  him — for  you  know  Stephen  expects  tliat  in 
early  autumn.  I  think  that  papa's  home  ought  to  be  made 
as  happy  and  comfortable  as  possible,  and  am  quite  sure 
you  could  do  more  good  here  than  where  you  are ;  you 
can't  refuse  to  liften  to  such  an  argument,  1  know  full  well. 


248  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

It  is  true  that  papa  acquiesced  in  your  earnestly  ex- 
pressed desire  not  to  seek  to  dissuade  or  impede  you  in 
your  resolution,  and  that  be  says  what  be  always  said,  tbat, 
witb  a  person  wbose  character  is  formed  as  yours  is,  it  is 
"better  to  allow  any  determined  line  of  action  to  have  its 
course,  for  that  if  it  results  in  failure  even,  it  is  sure  to  be 
the  means  of  some  indirect  good.  But  now,  dear,  you 
have  certainly  given  the  matter  a  fair  trial,  and  are  in  a 
position  to  rightly  estimate  your  future,  and  the  claims 
which  the  happiness  of  others  may  have  upon  it.  So  do, 
do,  come  home  again  !  and  make  happy  the  hearts  of  all 
who  love  you  so  well,  most  especially  that  of  your  affec- 
tionate Grace. 

P.  S.  Stephen — who  only  knows  of  your  absence,  but 
not  of  its  motive — writes  that  you  must  be  here  in  Septem- 
ber— for  a  certain  purpose — whatever  happens  to  the  con- 
trary. Gr.  V. 

FROM  MARTIN  TO   STEPHEN"  DANGERFIELD. 

Danqeefield's  Rest,  April  lOth,  185-. 

Your  last  letter,  my  son,  has  given  me  very  serious  con- 
cern. I  am  sorry  that  the  information  it  contains  has  been 
so  long  withheld — both  for  your  sake  and  mine.  What 
you  say  about  the  course  I  have  thought  it  necessary  to 
adopt  may  be  just  or  not ;  in  any  case,  I  am  unable  now  to 
discuss  it.  None  of  us  can  tell  in  this  life  when  we  may 
be  forced  to  act  a  part  which  shall  procure  us  the  censure 
of  the  world,  and  yet  be  obliged  to  withhold  our  justifica- 
tion. It  is  rarely  that  men  learn  charity  in  early  life — or 
women  either,  though  your  mother  was  an  exception. 

The  main  subject  of  your  letter  renders  it  imperative 
that  you  should  return  home  that  we  may  have  a  personal 
conference.  Overcome  prejudice,  if  you  can,  to  at  least  this 
extent.  The  person  you  alluded  to  has  been  back  and 
forth  during  the  winter,  sometimes  at  New  York,  sometimes 
at  The  Kest.  He  is  here  now,  but  will  no  doubt  accede  to 
my  wishes,  and  absent  himself  when  you  come.     Heaven 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  249 

knows  I  have  tried  hard  enough  to  protect  your  future 
interests,  and  I  have  so  far,  in  the  main,  succeeded.  You 
will  understand  this  better  hereafter.  I  am  too  weak  and 
ill  to  write  more, — you  must  come  home,  and  at  once, 
however  brief  your  stay. 

God  bless  you.  M.  Dangerfield.     • 

FROM   M.   G.   TO  JAMES   KIRKWOOD. 

New  York,  April  25th,  185-. 
You  have  disregarded  my  former  letters.     You  will  find 
it  wise  not  to  disregard  this.     I  wish  to  see  you  and  at 
once.     If  I  hear  nothiug  of  you  by  the  expiration  of  a 
week  from  this  date,  you  will  speedily  repent  it. 

M.  a. 

ROBERT  ELIOT  TO   OLIVER  VERNON. 

MONTGOiiERY,  Ala.,  April  I5ih,  185 — . 

This  will  be  the  last  letter,  My  Dear  Sir,  which  I  shall 
be  able  to  send  you  before  I  have  the  pleasure  of  accepting 
your  hospitable  invitation  to  re-visit  your  home  in  the 
North.  I  had  intended  to  make  a  longer  stay,  but  as 
Stephen  is  naturally  anxious  to  get  home,  and  we  agreed 
to  continue  our  pleasant  association  as  compagnons  de  voyo,ge, 
I  have  made  my  arrangements  to  suit  his  wishes,  and  we 
are  to  meet  at  Charleston  on  the  20th  on  our  way  to  New 
York. 

I  left  Boynton's  plantation  two  days  ago — ending  my 
second  agreeable  sojourn  there  with  a  regret  which  was 
increased  b}^  finding  him  in  no  very  happy  frame  of  mind. 
As  you  surmise,  his  feelings  are  very  deeply  interested  in 
your  charming  ward.  Miss  Grazebrook — and  his  is  not  a 
nature  which  is  easily  impressed  or  which  easily  forgets. 
While  naturally  avoiding  intruding  on  his  confidence,  it 
has  been  made  evident  to  me  that  he  attributes  his  rejec- 
tion entirely  to  personal  reasons ;  a  conviction  in  which  I 
do  not  agree,  any  more  than  you  yourself  do.     On  that 

11* 


250  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

point  I  entertain  an  opinion  which  has  probably  suggested 
itself  to  your  mind — but  I  confess  that  if  that  opinion  be 
well  founded,  it  suggests  little  chance  for  a  happy  solution 
of  the  difficulty. 

You  question  me  as  to  the  maturing  of  my  views  with 
respect  to  the  "peculiar  Institution,"  and  I  must  admit 
that  increased  facilities  for  observation  and  consequent 
reflection  have  certainly  failed  to  make  me  its  partisan.  In 
honesty  I  should  allow  that  lohat  I  have  seen  has  rather 
agreeably  disappointed  me  in  regard  to  the  treatment 
of  the  Slaves — they  are  more  kindly  treated,  and  appear 
to  be  happier  than  I  expected  to  find  them.  Yet,  it  would 
be  idle  to  expect,  that,  after  all  which  has  been  said,  and  in 
their  anxiety  to  rebut  the  testimony  of  their  opponents, 
the  masters  wduld  be  likely  to  allow  the  dark  side  of  the 
picture  to  be  exhibited  to  neutral  strangers. 

As  regards  the  northern  Press,  I  find  the  N.  Y.  Crier 
and  Evening  Yahoo  to  be  decided  favorites,  and  their 
reiterated  arguments  that  "amalgamation"  would  result 
from  emancipation,  as  well  as  the  ruin  of  free  labor  in 
the  North,  are  highly  relished  and  applauded.  To  judge 
however,  from  the  variety  of  hue  I  see  around  me, 
"  amalgamation"  is  not  seriously  repressed  by  the  system 
of  bondage,  and  the  candid  mind  will  perceive  that  grant- 
ing the  right  of  volition  to  both  races  would  certainly  limit 
the  now  numerous  cases  where  it  is  exerted  by  one  in 
despite  of  the  other.  Moreover,  the  granting  this  right 
would  surely  in  one  sense  cover  the  question,  inasmuch  as 
those  of  eitlier  race  who  dislike  amalgamation  would  be 
under  no  obligation  to  indulge  in  it.  With  respect  to  the 
free  white  labor  question,  it  is  one  of  the  strongest  and 
most  constantly  repeated  arguments  here  that  white  men 
could  not  perform  the  field  work  which  is  readily  performed 
by  black  ones.  If  this  be  true — and  I  presume  to  a  great 
extent  it  is  so — every  physiological  law  indicates  that  the 
converse  rule  must  be  approximately  so ;  that  is  to  say, 
that  the  negroes  would  be  unable  to  compete  with  the  labor 
performed  by  the  whites  in  the  climates  suited  to  the  latter. 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  251 

I  hear  constant  discussions  among  the  planters  about  the 
relative  rights  of  the  National  and  the  State  governments, 
which,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  add,  are  not  often  decided 
favorably  to  the  former.  If  the  planters  have  the  right 
side  of  the  case — which  I  understand  you  to  deny — the 
subject  would  be  narrowed  to  the  determination  whether 
Slavery  is  or  is  not  a  moral  wrong.  If  it  be  the  last, 
I  confess  the  constitutional  doctrine  does  not  strike  me  as 
of  major  importance.  There  must  surely  be  an  ultimate 
appeal  to  right  in  such  things.  Our  English  constitution, 
unlike  yours,  is  unwritten ;  but  were  it  otherwise,  I  don't 
think  the  Englishmen  of  to-day  would  consent  to  be  bound 
by  an  ancestral  clause  committing  posterity  to  the  encou- 
ragement of  sheep-stealing  in  particular  counties.  Unques- 
tionably, if  your  great  nation  is  to  progress  according  to 
your  cherished  theories,  it  must,  sooner  or  later,  bring 
itself  to  a  willingness  to  dispense  with  that  which  the 
sense  of  the  whole  civilized  world  now  condemns  as  a 
barbarism,  and  most  of  it  as  a  crime.  No  power  can  re- 
main in  an  exceptional  position  and  keep  up  with  the 
progress  of  the  age.  If  all  but  one  of  the  Christian  Powers 
agree  upon  any  great  question  of  practical  morals,  the 
dissentient  must  speedily  lag  behind  the  others  in  know- 
ledge, in  virtue,  and  in  strength. 

Nevertheless,  in  considering  all  the  difficulties  of  the 
case,  and  although  Freedom  is  jper  se  preferable  to  Slavery, 
I  am  quite  convinced  that,  for  the  good  of  both  races,  a 
system  of  gradual  emancipation  running  into  ameliorative 
apprenticeship,  and  followed  by  stringent  vagrancy  laws, 
would  be  wiser  than  any  scheme  that  could  be  devised  for 
a  sudden  and  sweeping  liberation  of  the  whole  race.  The 
latter  would  only  seem  justifiable  for  national  self-preser- 
vation, and  in  any  other  contingency  it  would  certainly 
appear  reasonable  that  the  owners  should  be  compensated. 

Boynton, — whose  tenderness  towards  his  people  is  quite 
in  contrast  with  the  conventional  abolition  pictures, 
— has  made  us  a  half  promise  to  follow  our  steps  to  the 
North.      I  hope  and  trust  that  his  prospects  with  Miss 


252  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

Grazebrook  may  brighten,  for  I  really  tliink  tliem  admira- 
bly adapted  to  make  each  other  happy.  With  every 
kindly  and  grateful  remembrance  to  yourself  and  your 
amiable  household,  believe  me 

Sincerely  yours, 

Robert  Eliot. 

James  Kirkwood  to  Elias  P.  Staggers. 

The  Rest,  April  2Qth,  185—. 

My  Dear  Sir  : — 

I  shall  be  in  New  York  this  week,  and  will  then  be  very 
happy  to  meet  you  and  your  friend  Mr.  Von  Donk  to 
arrange  about  the  business  you  refer  to.  In  the  meantime, 
you  can  tell  him  for  his  satisfaction  that  the  marriage  he 
apprehends  will  never  take  place. 

Your  obedient  servant, 
James  Kirkwood. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 


M 


R.  KIRKWOOD  spent  his  winter  in  a  manner  which 
he  must  have  found  highly  agreeable,  for  it  consisted 
in  an  alternation  of  hard  drinking  and  sluggish  indolence. 
Yet,  the  selfishness  of  the  man  was  such  that  in  all  his  suc- 
cesses and  in  all  his  torpor  he  never  lost  sight  of  the  main 
objects  which  he  had  laid  down  in  his  future.  Few  men 
would  have  slept  so  quietly  as  he  on  the  brink  of  a  crater 
from  whence  volcanic  fires  might  spout  at  any  moment  to 
overwhelm  him.  But  he  measured  with  cunning  accuracy 
the  sum-total  of  his  dangers,  and  the  force  of  the  weapons 
on  which  he  relied  to  avert  them.  He  knew  that  a  rare 
and  haughty  family  pride,  coupled  with  a  nervous  system 
shattered  by  years  of  apprehension,  fought  on  his  side  with 
Martin  Dangerfield.     He  knew  that  a  spirit  of  uncommon 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  253 

benevolence,  an  affection  which  would  make  heavy  sacri- 
fices to  save  the  loved  ones  from  evil  or  pain,  was  serving 
him  as  a  shield  with  Oliver  Yernon.  The  avarice  which 
had  replaced  some  of  his  old  and  fiercer  passions  grew 
stronger  in  his  heart  as  the  months  rolled  round,  and  his 
darling  hope  now  was  to  avail  of  all  the  advantages  and 
immunities  of  his  position,  until  by  a  well  timed  coup 
he  could  assure  himself  of  future  competency  and  find 
safety  in  a  hasty  but  carefully  planned  flight.  It  was  desir- 
able to  find  some  one,  who,  able  to  advance  a  large  sum  at 
short  notice,  would  yet  have  strong  motives  for  not  being 
too  particular  in  the  investigation  of  security.  Such  a 
person  and  such  motives  he  had  found  in  Gossamer  Von 
Donk  ;  and  with  the  valuable  aid  of  Mr.  Staggers,  he  had 
devoted  himself  at  intervals  during  the  winter  to  prepar- 
ing that  rich  and  credulous  soil  to  yield  at  the  proper 
moment  the  golden  fruit  he  proposed  to  gather  from  it. 
Kirkwood  considered  himself  armed  at  all  points.  If  old 
Dangerfield  could  be  brought  to  make  a  genuine  mortgage 
through  the  threats  or  cajoleries  of  his  tormentor,  why 
well  :  but  Mr  Kirkwood  did  not  contemplate  leaving  his 
harvest  unreaped  even  in  the  absence  of  such  an  instru- 
ment. 

The  old  man's  failing  health  afforded  Kirkwood  no 
little  satisfaction ;  for  whatever  his  power,  it  was  clearly 
more  available  over  weakness  than  over  strength.  Occa- 
sionally fierce  altercations  would  take  place  between  them, 
and  these  were  sometimes  overheard  by  the  servants ;  old 
retainers  of  the  family,  most  of  them,  who  would  shake 
their  heads  and  wish  Master  Stephen  would  return.  For 
they  had  a  certain  dread  and  suspicion  of  Kirkwood  for 
all  the  largesse  he  would  now  and  then  carelessly  dispense 
among  them ;  and  they  did  not  think  his  protracted  stay, 
during  the  long  absence  of  the  heir,  boded  any  good  to 
Dangerfield's  Rest.  Once  or  twice  there  were  little  whis- 
perings between  one  of  their  number  and  David  Green- 
wood, or  some  other  of  the  household  at  Uplands,  but  this 
was  on  rare  occasions,  and  was  generally  accompanied  by 


254  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

something  of  tliat  stiffness  whicla  is  apt  to  prevail  among 
servants,  when  the  gentry  of  their  respective  habitations 
are  not  on  terms  of  familiar  intercourse. 

There  were  times  when  Kirkwood  would  go  to  New 
York,  and  when  he  did  so,  he  usually  contrived  to  take 
a  liberal  draught  of  those  pleasures  to  which  as  a  younger 
man  he  had  been  so  attached.  He  would  find  his  way  of 
nights  to  questionable  places,  where  he  would  perhaps  pick 
up  an  old  boon  companion,  and  the  two  would  swallow 
bottle  after  bottle  of  champagne  together.  Then  Kirkwood 
would  proceed  towards  the  small  hours  to  the  favorite 
haunt  where  he  used  so  often  to  be  seen  in  the  old  days,  a 
dozen  and  twenty  years  ago.  This  was  H — 's,  the  then 
fashionable  hell  of  the  town.  Faro  was  quite  as  attractive 
for  its  old  votary  now  as  it  had  ever  been.  But  he  had 
grown  cautious  from  being  burned  so  often  at  that  fire. 
His  play  had  lost  its  old  dash  and  recklessness,  and  he 
would  wait  steadily  for  the  case-cards  instead  of  giving  the 
bank  the  advantage  of  the  splits.  He  generally  won  this 
winter,  which  did  not  however  inspire  him  with  fool- 
hardiness.  He  wanted  all  the  money  he  could  get,  he  said, 
and  he  would  rise  from  the  table  contented  with  moderate 
gains. 

As  his  store  increased  from  its  various  sources  of  supply, 
Kirkwood  began  to  feel  the  miser's  yearning  for  a  safe 
place  for  its  deposit.  No  bank  or  Trust  Company  in  town 
would  serve  his  turn.  Too  much  time  would  be  needed 
for  transfer  in  the  contingency  of  sudden  departure.  The 
room  he  occupied  at  The  Rest  was  unsafe.  Should  aught 
turn  up  against  him,  it  would  be  the  first  place  searched 
and  rifled.  He  bethought  him  of  a  spot  more  secure,  and 
one  wherefrom  he  could  reclaim  his  treasure  without  the 
aid  or  knowledge  of  a  living  soul.  There  existed  in  the 
great  city  one  particular  source  of  danger ;  one  from 
whence  a  blow  might  come  at  any  time  whose  chief  force 
might  be  directed  to  wresting  from  him  his  ill-gotten  wealth. 
A  letter  he  had  lately  received  made  him  more  anxious 
than  ever  on  this  point.     Besides,  Stephen  Dangerfield  was 


BEFORE   THE   STORM,       .  255 

coming  home,  and  with  him  might  arrive  fresh  compHca- 
tions.  All  risk  should  be  avoided  by  timely  precautions. 
So  Kirkwood  caused  to  be  prepared  a  compact  but  strong 
case  such  as  would  stand  moisture  and  mouldy  earth,  and 
having,  after  long  and  artful  reconnoissances,  selected  its 
temporary  resting-place,  with  many  an  inward  aspiration 
for  its  safety,  he  committed  his  hoard  to  the  ground.  With 
proper  foresight  it  was  put  in  a  form  which  should  require 
no  additional  trouble — no  delay  in  New  York  to  make  it 
available.  He  was  a  practised  and  thoughtful  operator, 
and  barring  a  handful  of  gold  for  temporary  purposes,  his 
store  consisted  of  bills  on  London  and  other  Continental 
cities  of  Europe. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 


IN  a  luxurious  apartment  of  the  Club  in  Fifth 
Avenue  were  three  gentlemen,  who,  having  partaken 
of  a  dinner  of  the  satisfactory  character  for  which  that 
well  known  cuisine  is  noted,  had  disposed  of  their  persons 
after  the  various  manners  which  their  taste  or  caprice  had 
suggested. 

Mr.  Elias  P.  Staggers  was  sprawling  at  full  length  on  a 
lounge,  with  the  table  laden  with  fruit  and  wine  in  easy 
reach,  from  which  he  occasionally  supplied  himself  with 
champagne.  Mr.  Gossamer  Von  Donk  was  airing  his 
patent  leather  boots  at  the  open  wiridow,  while  the  brocaded 
chair  which  supported  his  person  was  tilted  back  at  an 
agreeable  angle  against  the  embrasure.  Mr.  James  Kirk- 
wood was  seated  under  the  massive  chandelier  at  the  table, 
making  little  notes  in  his  pocket-book  from  time  to  time  as 
the  conversation  progressed. 

"  It  is  clear,"  remarked  the  latter  worthy,  "that  where 
we  are  playing  a  common  game  and  hold  the  winning  cards, 
all  we  have  to  do  is  to  play  steadily  in  concert,  to  bag  all 
the  stakes." 


256  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  There  ain't  no  trouble  at  all  about  it,"  said  Elias  P. 
"  It's  a  first  rate  investment  any  bow,  and  the  General's 
got  plenty  of  cash.  He'll  let  you  go  in  for  it  whenever  I 
say  the  word." 

"  Ya-a-s,"  said  Gossamer,  "  but  I  don't  clearly  see,  you 
know,  how  a  good  investment  in  land  is  going  to  insure  a 
dead  certainty  in  a  question  of  love." 

"  My  dear  young  friend,"  said  Kirkwood,  blandly,  "  all 
things  are  uncertain,  of  course,  until  they  are  positively 
accomplished.  What  we  have  to  consider  in  life  or  in  love 
is  the  aggregate  of  chances.  Old  Yernon  cares  nothing 
for  money,  but  he's  proud  about  land.  Dangerfield's  Eest 
is  the  best  property  anywhere  in  his  neighborhood  ;  there- 
fore he  looks  with  favor  on  his  daughter's  marriage  with 
its  presumptive  heir.  Change  the  situation  ;  let  Stephen 
Dangerfield  be  set  aside  and  some  other  attractive  young 
gentleman  step  into  his  shoes  ;  and  presto.  Old  Vernon 
will  regard  with  equal  favor  the  attractive  young  gen- 
tleman." 

"  Ya-a-s,"  said  the  dubious  Gossamer,  who  thought  it 
indicated  commercial  adroitness  to  assume  suspicion  of  every 
new  project.  "  But  why  should  you  favor  one  attractive 
young  gentleman  more  than  any  other  ?" 

"  That's  just  the  point.  I  wish  to  be  entirely  frank  with 
you.  It  certainly  doesn't  signify  a  straw  to  me  who  comes 
into  the  place,  provided  I  realize  the  value  of  my  advances; 
that  is,  in  a  pecuniary  sense.  But  there  are  things  besides 
money  in  this  world.  You,  for  instance,  are  willing  to  go 
great  lengths  to  be  successful  in  a  matter  of  love.  Now,  I 
— for  reasons  needless  to  mention — have  no  great  liking 
for  your  rival.  Therefore,  I'm  willing  to  take  some  pains 
to  cause  him  to  fail,  and  to  cause  you  to  succeed." 

"  They  say  she's  very  fond  of  Steve  Dangerfield,"  soid 
Gossamer,  ruefully,  and  gulping  down  a  draught  of  cham 
pagne.  "You  don't  either  of  you  seem  to  think  how 
thais  to  be  got  over." 

"  You  see,  Gossy,"  said  Elias  P.  reluctantly  disturbing 
his  agreeable  posture  to  fill  a  glass  and  light  a  cigar,  "  you 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  257 

see  men  of  the  world  like  Colonel  Kirkwood  here  and  me, 
we  take  a  kinder  philosophical  view  of  these  things,  and 
you  don't.  Fond  of  Steve  ?  Well,  yes,  a  girl  of  her  age 
is  fond  of  any  nice  lookin',  spry  young  man,  'specially 
when  he's  got  a  good  estate  to  his  back.  But  mor'n  half 
the  time  they'd  rather  change  than  not.  All  folks  likes 
variety  ;  and  when  the  new  kind's  got  the  most  money  it's 
darned  sure  to  carry  the  day." 

"  In  any  case,"  added  Kirkwood,  "  you  run  no  risk  and 
do  no  harm.  You'll  have  all  the  advantage  of  the  situa- 
tion— a  pied  d  ierre,  as  the  French  say.  The  old  man  can't 
last  long — but  whether  he  does  or  not,  the  mortgage  can 
be  foreclosed  at  will.  Finally,  and  in  any  event,  young 
Dangerfield  will  never  marry  the  girl." 

"  But  are  you  sure  of  that  ?" 

"  So  sure,  that  if  you  don't  hear  of  the  engagement  being 
broken  off  within  a  month,  I'll  give  you  half  my  claim  on 
the  estate  for  nothing." 

"  But  why  should  it  be  broken  off— at  any  rate,  why 
before  the  fact  of  the  mortgage  being  in  existence, — which 
you  say  is  a  secret  so  far, — comes  to  be  known  ?" 

"  Ah,  that  I  can't  answer." 

*'  Don't  be  too  darned  inquisitive,  Grossy. — Ask  me  no 
questions  and  I'll  tell  you  no  lies,  eh.  Colonel  ?  What 
do  you  care,  Gossy,  so  long  as  you  git  the  gal  and  the 
estate  ?" 

"  Well,  nothing,  perhaps  ;  only  one  feels  naturally  anx- 
ious, you  know.  And,  by  the  by,  perhaps,  after  all,  Old 
Yernon  might  object  to  me  for  a  son-in-law  on  political 
grounds." 

"  Stuff.  What  the  devil  difference  is  politics  to  you  ? 
You  hain't  run  for  nothin'  yet ;  time  enough  when  you  do. 
For  the  matter  o'  that,  you  can  jest  change  round  before 
you're  married,  and  change  back  again  afterwards.  It's  a 
free  country,  ain't  it  ?" 

"  I  might  do  that,  perhaps,  but  then  the  General" — 

"  What  d'ye  think  he  cares  about  one  party  or  another  ? 
Not  a  row  of  pins!     He  goes  for  the  party  that's  got  most 


258  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

votes,  he  does.  We're  all  among  friends,  and  I  don't  mind 
Sajin',  if  it  comes  to  that,  I  do  too  !" 

"  It  argues  a  generous  nature  to  be  willing  to  acquiesce 
in  the  wish  of  the  majority,"  said  Kirk  wood,  gravely,  "  and 
is  quite  consistent  with  the  nature  of  our  institutions." 

"That's  so,"  agreed  Elias  P.,  "I  always  go  for  doin' 
what  most  of  the  folks  wants  ;  or  any  of  'em,  when  I  kin 
make  any  thing  out  of  it ;  allers  except  them  d — d  aboli- 
tionists ;  I'm  down  on  them." 

"  In  a  word,  Mr.  Von  Donk,"  said  Kirk  wood,  returning 
to  the  original  subject,  "  I  don't  think  any  of  the  difficul- 
ties you  name  will  have  any  force  at  all." 

"  She's  a  lovely  critter,"  said  Elias  P.,  warming  with 
his  wine,  and  gazing  enthusiastically  at  the  ceiling,  "  she 
was  the  prettiest  gal  aboard  the  Assi/ria,  and  that's  saying 
a  heap.  Now,  Violetta  and  Zerlina  are  mighty  fine  gals, 
but  she  takes  'em  down.  What  a  foot  and  ankle  she's  got ! 
And  she'll  have  that  ere  place  of  Uplands — glorious  place 
— wuth  fifty  thousand  if  it's  wuth  a  cent."  And  he  went 
on  dilating  for  some  time  on  the  personal  attractions  of 
Grace  Yernon,  and  the  substantial  excellences  of  the  estate 
to  which  she  was  heiress.  Kirkwood  marked  the  glisten- 
ing eagerness  in  Gossamer's  eye  with  the  approval  of  an 
angler  who  sees  the  fish  toying  about  his  hook. 

Kirkwood  was  in  fact  playing  a  bold  and  deep  game. 
He  felt  that  the  storm  which  had  been  long  gathering 
might  soon  burst,  and  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  prepare 
for  any  emergency.  His  plan  was  to  raise  a  large  sum  by 
a  mortgage  on  Dangerfield's  Eest,  which  document  if  it 
could  not  be  genuine  should  be  forged.  Either  way  it  was 
better  the  transaction  should  be  got  over  with  as  little  eclat 
or  investigation  as  possible.  Once  accomplished  he  could 
abscond  any  day  at  an  hour's  notice.  But,  to  lessen  the 
chances  for  investigation,  it  was  desirable  that  the  nego- 
tiator should  have  an  incentive  beyond  a  mere  eligible 
investment,  so  that  his  prudence  might  in  a  measure  be 
blinded.  Such  a  negotiator,  with  Staggers's  aid,  he  had 
found   in    Von   Donk.     The  broker  had  lonoc  dealt  with 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  269 

Kirkwood,  and  knew  him  to  be  adroit  enough,  whatever 
his  honesty  might  be.  But,  as  Kirkwood  privately  arranged 
to  allow  him  a  large  commission  out  of  the  amount  received 
from  Von  Donk  or  the  General,  Staggers  was  not  disposed 
to  look  into  matters  too  closely.  Whatever  happened  he 
would  realize  a  profit,  and  he  knew  nothing,  he  said  to 
himself,  which  should  lead  him  to  look  with  doubt  on  the 
aifair.  As  he  finished  a  glowing  peroration  which  summed 
up  in  most  attractive  colors  the  advantages  to  be  enjoyed 
by  Gossamer  from  the  proposed  bargain,  Kirkwood  rose  to 
depart. 

"  After  all,  Mr.  Yon  Donk,"  he  remarked  carelessly,  as 
he  pulled  on  his  gloves,  "  I  don't  know  that  I  care  about 
being  precipitate.  I  may  make  an  exchange  and  buy  a 
house  here  on  the  avenue.  New  York  is  really  getting  a 
tolerable  place  to  live  in.  My  friend  M — ,  the  real  estate 
broker,  was  telling  me  this  morning  of  a  very  fine  property 
whose  owner  would  like  a  country  mortgage.  He's  going 
to  Europe,  and  the  house  is  beautifully  furnished  and  all 
that.     See  you  soon,  Staggers— good  night  both." 

"  But  Mr.  Kirkwood,  I  say !"  said  Gossamer  in  alarm, 
"  you  won't  do  anything  positive  without  letting  us  know, 
you  kno^?" 

"  Oh,  dear  no.  Let  me  see ; — I'll  wait  three  days — will 
that  do  ?  All  right.  Just  oblige  me  by  not  naming  the 
matter,  that's  all.  I've  some  delicacy  about  my  old  friend 
Dangerfield's  feelings,  you  understand." 

"To  be  siire,  to  be  sure ;  I  understand  you  perfectly. 
Better  not  to  have  it  noised  about.  A — a — I  think  Mr. 
Kirkwood  that  Staggers  and  I  can  arrange  the  thing  if 
you'll  permit  ?" 

"Oh— well;  as  you  please;  suit  yourself;  of  course  I'm 
very  happy  if  we  come  to  terms.  Staggers  knows  all 
about  it.     Good  night  again." 

And  Mr.  Kirkwood  took  his  departure  with  a  meaning 
look  at  Elias  P.  "  That's  clinched  at  all  events,"  he  mut- 
tered as  he  buttoned  the  coat  across  his  broad  breast  to 
keep  out  the  cool  night  air.     "  No  more  trouble  with  him," 


200  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

he  continued,  as  he  strode  down  the  steps  of  the  club  into 
the  silent  Avenue.  "  Thai  part  of  the  business  will  run 
smoothly  enough,  and  now  for  Marj." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


KIRKWOOD  strode  swiftly  on,  bearing  southward  until 
he  reached  the  extremity  of  the  broad  avenue,  famous 
.as  being  the  centre  of  fashionable  New  York.  Then  he 
inclined  westward,  crossing  the  small  park  known  as  Wash- 
ington Square,  and  finally  struck  into  one  of  those  streets 
running  parallel  with  Broadway,  which  grow  more  squalid 
and  dirty  as  they  draw  nearer  Canal  street.  He  had  almost 
reached  the  latter  when  he  turned  abruptly  to  the  right,  up 
a  narrow  alley,  which  ran  into  a  somewhat  wider  courtyard, 
and  formed  the  approach  to  a  row  of  mean-looking  houses, 
low  and  dilapidated,  facing  towards  the  east.  Before  one 
of  these  uninviting  tenements  Kirkwood  paused,  and  glanc- 
ing about  for  a  moment,  as  though  afraid  or  ashamed  to  be 
seen  entering  it,  he  tried  the  door,  and  finding  it  yielded  to 
his  pressure,  passed  quickly  in. 

With  some  difficulty,  and  more  than  one  muttered  curse, 
he  groped  his  way  up  two  shattered  staircases,  and  stum- 
bling along  a  Jong  passage,  came  to  a  door  at  which  it  end- 
ed. Here  he  paused  again  and  listened.  There  were  no 
voices  to  be  heard  within,  and  satisfied  with  that  discovery, 
he  knocked  thrice  at  the  panels,  and,  receiving  the  answer- 
ing permission,  entered  the  room. 

It  was  a  shabbily  furnished  apartment,  lighted  dimly  by 
a  single  candle.  There  were  two  windows  on  one  side,  and 
a  door  leading  into  a  smaller  room,  apparently  used  as  a 
bed-chamber,  on  another.  The  furniture,  such  as  it  was, 
was  old-fashioned,  and  much  of  it  broken.  One  or  two 
chests  of  drawers,  half-a-dozen  common  chairs,  a  large 
rocking  chair,  a  table  or  two,  and  an  antique  looking  clothes- 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  261 

press,  constituted  the  principal  articles.  There  was  also  a 
stove,  which  looked  as  if  it  were  used  for  cooking — a  sug- 
gestion which  found  corroboration  in  a  few  plates  and  pans 
on  a  sort  of  dresser  hard  bj.  The  place,  albeit  it  appeared 
to  combine  the  purpose  of  both  sitting-room  and  kitchen, 
was  clean  and  tidy  enough,  nor  did  it  need  the  evidence  of 
the  solitary  figure  sitting  by  a  window,  to  show  that  it  was 
commonly  occupied  by  a  female. 

The  figure  in  question  was  that  of  a  woman,  about  forty- 
five  years  of  age,  and  who  would  still  have  been  uncom- 
monly handsome,  but  for  the  wretched  lines  about  her  face, 
which  told  so  unmistakable  a  story  of  passion,  vice,  and 
suffering.  A  face  quite  Greek  in  its  character,  with  mas- 
sive dark  locks  fretted  with  silver,  and  eyes  like  coals 
which  had  not  yet  lost  all  their  fire.  A  strange-looking 
face,  with  decided  intellect  in  the  broad  low  brow,  and 
much  of  resolution  about  the  chin.  But  the  mouth  though 
handsome  was  weak,  the  lips  a  shade  too  full,  and  the  nose 
lacked  delicacy  in  the  cutting.  She  wore  a  dress  of  some 
dark  fabric,  cheap  almost  to  penury  in  quality  and  trim- 
ming ;  but  she  was  one  of  the  sort  of  women  with  whom 
one  never  notices  attire,  unless  indeed  it  were  to  remark 
that  it  happened  to  be  whole  or  in  rags.  By  the  feeble 
glimmer  of  her  candle  she  had  been  poring  over  a  tat- 
tered volume  of  an  old  novel,  and  as  she  rose  on  hearing 
the  demand  at  the  door,  it  could  be  seen  that  she  was  quite 
as  tall  for  a  woman  as  was  her  visitor  for  a  man. 

"So,  James  Kirkwood,"  she  said,  as  he  entered,  and 
carefully  closed  the  door  behind  him,  "  so  you  thought  it 
wise  to  take  notice  of  my  last  summons.  It  wouldn't  be 
well  to  quite  set  me  at  defiance,  eh  ?" 

"  You  seem  to  be  going  down  hill,"  he  answered,  eva- 
sively, and  looking  about  him  ;  "  if  it's  money  you 
want — " 

She  waved  her  hand  with  an  expression  of  contempt. 

"  If  I  refuse  money  from  my  own  child,  it's  not  likely 
I'd  take  it  from  such  as  you." 

"  What  do  you  want,  then  ?" 


262  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

"All  in  good  time.  I  shan't  keep  you  long.  There's 
plenty  of  time  between  this  and  midnight,  and  after  that's 
soon  enough  for  your  gambling,  or  whatever  other  devil's 
work  you  happen  to  be  at  just  now." 

"  Fair  words,  Mary  ;  if  you've  any  request  to  make,  you 
won't  find  foul  ones  serve  your  turn." 

"  Request !  from  me  to  you  ?  not  now,  I  fancy,  any  more 
than  for  many  a  long  year.  Did  my  last  letter  read  like  a 
request  ?  No,  James  Kirk  wood ;  I  did  not  send  for  you 
to  prefer  a  request,  but  to  impose  a  command." 

"  Who  told  you  where  to  send  ?" 

"  Ask  me  something  I  can  answer.  This  much  I'll  say 
— my  eye  is  always  upon  you — don't  seek  to  escape  it. 
I've  little  else  to  do  or  think  of  now,  and  it  amuses  me. 
Besides  I  intend  to  keep  you  out  of  mischief." 

"  In  a  word,"  said  Kirkwood,  impatiently,  "  why  have 
you  sent  for  me  ?" 

"  For  several  reasons.  First  and  foremost  look  at  this." 
She  tossed  a  paper  across  the  table,  which  he  took  up  and 
opened.  It  was  a  playbill  of  the Theatre  in  Broad- 
way— the  date,  that  of  the  first  appearance  of  Miss  Ellen 
Grey,  which  event  was  set  forth  in  flaming  capitals  at  its 
head. 

"  What's  this,  and  what  is  it  to  me  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Much.     Do  you  know  who  this  Miss  Ellen  Grey  is  ?" 

"  No.     How  should  I  ?" 

"I'll  tell  you.     It's  Elinor.     It's  my  child." 

"  How  do  you  know — has  she  been  here — have  you  seen 
her?" 

"  Seen  her,  no.  It  was  agreed  I  should  not,  I  keep  my 
word,  James,  whatever  wrong  I  may  do.  Besides  I  don't 
want  to  contaminate  her — she,  at  least,  shall  be  free  from 
all  taint  of  my  association  or  example." 

"An  exemption  3^ou  did  not  design  for  the  other,"  said 
Kirkwood  with  a  sneer. 

"  Alabama's  but  a  little  child,"  said  the  mother  wist- 
fully. "  I  should  not  have  hurt  her — and  'tis  hard,  very 
hard,  to  be  utterly  alone." 


BEFORE   THE  STORM.  263 

Then  with  a  sudden  flash  of  bitter  recollection  she 
said: 

"  Scoundrel  that  you  were  to  steal  her  from  me  !  Why, 
even  the  very  beasts  are  allowed  to  keep  their  young  until 
they  have  learned  to  shift  for  themselves !" 

"  Come,  all  that's  settled  and  understood.  We  have 
nothing  to  discuss  in  that  connexion.  You  asked  me  to 
look  at  this — "  touching  the  playbill — "I  have  looked  at 
it.  You  told  me  this  stage-struck  young  woman  is  your 
daughter ; — good ;  what  is  that  to  me  ?" 

"  A  great  deal.  I  have  heard  from  her.  She  wrote  me 
word  of  her  intention,  but  only  partly  of  the  cause.  I 
suspected  though*— I  know  her  nature  pretty  well —  guessed 
there  was  a  motive  of  independence  or  something  of  the 
sort.  Then  I  wrote  to  inquire  of  Oliver  Yernon.  He  has 
informed  me  lately  of  what  occurred.  You  have  been 
forging  again,  James." 

"Did  you  send  for  me  to  tell  me  this?" 

"This  and  something  more.  Whatever  rascality  you 
may  have  been  engaged  in  of  late,  you  have  been  un- 
molested by  me.  I  havn't  interfered  so  long  as  it  didn't 
trouble  me  or  mine.     Noio  the  case  is  different." 

"The  money  was  my  just  due,  legally  established,  and 
admitted  by  Oliver  Yernon  after  a  careful  investigation." 
'    "  As  to  his  investigation  I  know  little  and  care  less.     As 
to  your  claim  being  a  just  one,  'tis  the  merest  fabrication 
and  you  know  it." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  bandy  words  with  you.  Suffice  it  that 
the  claim  cannot  be  disproved,  and  without  that  you'd  find 
it  rather  hard  to — " 

"  To  recover  the  plunder  or  to  punish  the  robber,  you 
would  say.  The  first  may  be  true  enough,  but  as  to  the 
second — think  a  little,  James — would  that  be  so  very  diffi- 
cult?" 

"What  is  it  you  want?" — asked  Kirkwood,  moving 
uneasily  in  his  chair,  "if  you  need  a  few  hundreds — " 

She  burst  into  a  hard  laugh.  "  Once  for  all,  no — I  tell 
you.     I'll  take  no  money  from  any  of  you.     If  I  were 


264  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

pinched  for  a  crust  I'd  be  an  honest  man's  pensioner  per- 
haps— certainly  not  yours." 

"Come,"  he  said,  roughly,  "what  the  devil  is  it  then 
that  you've  brought  me  here  for  ?" 

"  What  is  it  ?  Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  stand  by  and 
see  my  child  defrauded  of  her  little  fortune,  and  that  by 
the  villain  who  blasted  her  mother's  life,  and  blackened 
her  name  ?  Upon  my  soul,  crime  must  be  second  nature 
in  you  that  you  can  ask  so  coolly  why  I've  brought  you 
here  ! — That  I  may  in  plain  words  command  you  to  restore 
to  my  child  that  of  which  you've  unjustly  deprived  her !'" 

"  And  suppose  I  refuse,"  he  added,  in  slow,  measured 
tones ;  "  setting  aside  my  objections  to  the  form  of  your 
proposition,  suppose  I  simply  refuse  to  comply  with  it  ?" 

"  In  that  case  I  shall  postpone  the  recovery  of  the  plun- 
der, until  I  have  taken  measures  to  punish  the  thief?" 

"  You  mean  to  threaten  ?" 

"  Oh  !  no ;  I  mean  to  act." 

"  How,  for  example  ?" 

"  I  shall  draw  up  a  very  brief  statement — what  may  be 
styled  a  series  of  anecdotal  reminiscences — running  back 
for  some  fifteen  years,  and  including  some  of  your  most 
interesting  adventures  during  that  period.  This  will  be 
singularly  amusing  and  instructive  to  all  the  people  with 
whom  you  have  lately  had  dealings,  and  I  shall  propose" 
to  furnish  them  each  with  copies." 

"  You  will  ?" 

"  I  will.  There  will  be  an  extra  copy,  which,  however, 
will  be  the  first  delivered,  for  the  Prosecuting  Attorney 
at  -      ." 

"  Very  good.  Now  listen  to  me."  He  came  close  to 
her,  and  the  look  came  over  his  face  which  appeared  there 
before  when  provoked  by  Stephen  Dangerfield.  "  What- 
ever I  am,  Mary  Grazebrook,  I'm  tolerably  safe  to  strike 
home  when  it's  a  question  of  revenge,  or  to  stem  a  coming 
danger.  Betray  me  if  you  will.  But  I  swear  to  you,  your 
life  will  be  the  price  of  the  gratification." 

"  Bah !  which  of  us  has  most  cause  to  fear  ?    And  how 


BEFORE   THE   STOKM.  2ih) 

much,  for  that  matter,  do  you  think  I  care  for  you  ?  Not 
enough,  be  sure,  to  deter  me  one  instant  from  any  path  I'm 
resolved  to  pursue.  Try,  again,  James  Kirkwood,  that 
strategy  won't  avail  you." 

He  looked  for  a  few  moments  into  her  resolute  eyes  with 
something  of  his  old  admiration,  and  said : — 

"Why  should  you  seek  to  injure  me,  Mary  ;  you  never 
sought  to  do  so  before  ?" 

"  No,  because  you  were  the  father  of  my  child  ;  what 
you  have  done  now — or  what  you  threaten  to  leave  undone 
— will  cause  me  to  forget  that." 

"  She  need  not  have  left  the  Vernons — a  piece  of  mere 
foolish  pride." 

"Ah !  you  are  incapable  of  attributing  any  but  an  un- 
worthy motive.  But  that  is  nothing  to  the  purpose.  What 
concerns  me  is,  that  I  will  not  have  her  wandering  up  and 
down,  leading  the  life  of  a  social  pariah — and  that  of  a 
play-actress  is  such  as  much  as  mine  is — because  she  is 
deprived  of  her  just  right  through  your  thieving  selfish- 
ness ;  more,  you  must  give  me  an  explicit  reply  before  you 
leave  this  room." 

"You  will  prevent  my  going?"  said  he,  with  a  laugh. 

"  If  you  go,"  she  went  on  coolly,  "  without  such  a  reply, 
I  shall  consider  the  step  to  involve  a  refusal, — whereupon 
I  shall  act  in  the  manner  I  have  described." 

Kirkwood  reflected.  He  knew  the  woman  with  whom 
he  had  to  deal  ;  knew  that  she  had  nerve,  pluck — was 
equal,  in  short,  to  the  performance  of  more  than  her  threat. 
Suppose  she  took  time  by  the  forelock,  and  carried  it  out ; 
suppose  himself  to  be  in  custody,  where  would  be  his  pro- 
mised reprisal  ?  Besides,  things  were  coming  to  a  critical 
pass  in  other  quarters.  It  was  clearly  a  situation  in  which 
to  fight  for  time. 

"Listen,  Mary,"  he  said  at  length.  "You  are  wrong  in 
your  suspicions,  but  I  won't  speak  of  that.  The  money  is 
no  great  affair,  after  all ;  and  I'm  sure  I  wish  your  daugh- 
ter well.  But  I  have  invested  in  certain  speculations,  from 
which  I  cannot  in  a  moment  withdraw." 

12 


266  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

"In  faro-banks,  I  suppose?" 

"  Nonsense  ;  in  legitimate  mercantile  speculations." 

"  "Well,  what  do  you  propose  ?"  • 

"  Briefly  this.  I'll  give  you  a  bond  to  pay  back  this  sum 
of  twelve  thousand  dollars  within  a  short  time,  say  in  ninety 
days." 

"What  guarantee  have  I  of  its  being  honored?" 

"  You  have  always  the  same  means  for  enforcing  it  that 
you  have  now.  Besides,  I'm  worth  far  more  than  that 
sum,  and  it  could,  in  such  a  case,  be  recovered  by  legal 
means." 

Mary  Grazebrook  mused  for  a  while.  She  saw  that  she 
had  an  advantage,  and  did  not  wish  to  let  its  fruits  slip 
through  her  fingers.  On  the  other  hand,  Kirkwood  was  a 
stubborn  and  dangerous  man,  who  might  at  any  moment 
when  his  blood  was  up  take  a  great  risk  rather  than  suc- 
cumb to  any  threat. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  consent  to.  I'll  take  your  bond 
— it  shall  be  a  regular  legal  undertaking,  mind — provided 
you  have  it  here  before  twelve  o'clock  to-morrow  morning." 

"Agreed." 

"No  shuffling,  mind.  I  know  your  old  tricks,  James. 
No  new  and  ingenious  quibbles  or  evasions." 

"  No,  no  ;  honor  bright."  And  truly  Kirkwood  was 
sincere  for  once.  A  scandal  at  the  present  moment  might 
ruin  all  his  plans.  It  would  cost  him  nothing  to  give  the 
bond,  and  in  three  months  he  would  in  all  probability  be 
far  away.  The  truce  was,  therefore,  agreed  upon  under 
the  stipulated  conditions,  and  the  agreement  exacted  by 
Mary  Grazebrook  was  placed  in  her  hands,  as  demanded,  by 
noon  of  the  following  day.  The  possibility  of  her  cun- 
ning opponent's  absenting  himself  to  escape  the  fulfilment 
of  his  pledge  did  not  escape  her  attention ;  but  she  had 
good  reasons  to  believe  that  he  was  playing  for  a  much 
larger  stake  which  he  would  not  willingly  abandon,  and 
she  determined  to  find  additional  security  in  watching 
his  every  movement  with  a  vigilance  which  should  permit 
no  elusion  of  her  jealous  scrutiny.     No  such  device,  she 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  207 

resolved,  should  avail  him ;  and  the  moment  he  showed 
signs  of  retreat  should  be  the  signal  for  the  blow  she  had 
threatened  to  fall,  and  which,  with  questionable  prudence, 
she  had  consented  to  postpone. 


CHAPTER  XXXYI 


MAY  Day  had  come.  Not  bright  and  smiling  with 
flowers  as  we  typify  it  because  we  share  the  literature 
of  a  land  where  it  is-  oftener  so  than  with  ourselves — but 
wild,  boisterous,  and  stormy.  Yet  dwellers  near  the  sea — 
or  near  ever  moving  waters  of  any  sort  for  that  matter — 
learn  to  find  and  enjoy  a  beauty  in  every  season,  a  charm 
in  every  variety  of  atmosphere.  And  Stephen  Dangerfield's 
eye  and  taste  were  open  to  such  influences,  so  that  it  was 
not  because  the  weather  was  inclement,  not  that  the  wind 
roared  and  shrieked  around  the  old  walls  and  whistled 
through  the  bending  trees,  that  a  load  was  on  his  heart 
and  a  shadow  on  his  brow. 

He  had  arrived  the  evening  before,  and  even  filial  duty 
had  not  prevented  his  snatching  a  short  hour  to  call  at 
Uplands.  We  need  not  essay  to  paint  the  happy  meeting 
between  the  lovers.  The  sight  of  Grace  was  as  warm  and 
cheering  sunshine  to  Stephen,  and  he  filled  up  for  her  the  very 
ideal  of  manly  strength  and  comeliness.  Little  either  of  them 
thought  of  money  or  any  other  obstacle  to  their  happiness 
during  the  delicious  moments  they  passed  together.  Nor 
was  there  aught  to  suggest  apprehension  in  the  cordial  and 
approving  smile  of  Vernon.  The  kind  old  man  thought 
no  doubt  of  parchments  and  settlements  as  in  some  sort 
necessary  things  to  consider  in  this  practical  world  of  ours ; 
but  doubtless  he  thought  more  of  the  pithy  saying  of  the 
playwright's  Richelieu;  and  to  look  at  the  pair  together 
might  have  suggested  to  even  a  harsher  sire  that 


268  dangerfield's  rest;  or 


The  mate  for  beauty 


Sliould  bo  a  mau  and  not  a  money  chest." 

No,  there  was  no  gloom  in  Stephen's  heart  when  he 
started  in  the  dusky  evening  to  drive  over  to  The  Rest. 
David  Greenwood  drove  him  over,  and  imparted  to  him  on 
the  way  that  Mr.  Kirk  wood  had  been  absent  for  some  days 
as  he  had  heard,  and  had  not  yet  returned.  So  that  he 
rejoiced  that  one  disagreeable  presence  was  spared  him  for 
the  time,  and  that  he  might  see  and  come  to  an  explanation 
with  his  father  without  surveillance  or  interruption. 

Stephen  had  for  various  reasons  postponed  advising  Mr. 
Dangerfield  of  his  engagement  to  Grace  Vernon.  Perhaps 
he  thought  that  Kirkwood  was  certain  to  mention  the  fact; 
perhaps  he  dreaded  the  enforced  explanations  which  must 
ensue  respecting  the  state  of  the  property.  Be  it  as  it  may, 
he  had  not  referred  to  the  fact,  until,  thinking  the  time  was 
drawing  near  when  it  must  be  divulged,  he  despatched  the 
letter  which  had  brought  in  reply  the  one  which,  while 
it  summoned  him  home,  implied  ignorance  of  the  subject 
in  question. 

Neither  had  Kirkwood  alluded  to  the  matter  in  hearing 
of  his  host.  He  was  in  no  haste  for  the  eclaircissement 
which  the  discovery  would  entail,  and  wished  indeed  to 
suck  his  orange  dry  before  he  threw  it  away.  He  had 
gone  to  the  city,  not  so  much  in  compliance  with  Martin 
Dangerfield's  request,  as  because  he  wished  to  prepare  his 
own  affairs  for  all  possible  contingencies.  He  had  guessed 
from  Dangerfield's  troubled  mien  that  he  had  derived 
through  accident  or  direct  communication  from  his  son,  an 
inkling  of  the  truth,  and  he  hastened  to  make  all  snug  for 
the  storm. 

When  Stephen  arrived,  he  was  informed  that  his  father 
had  retired,  somewhat  unwell,  for  tlie  night,  and  he  would 
not  therefore  disturb  him.  But  when  they  met  in  the 
morning,  he  saw  that  the  old  man  although  affectionate 
was  constrained,  and  he  at  once  began  to  connect  in  his 
mind  the  unexplained  mystery  of  six  months  ago  with 
some  impediment    to  the    realization  of  his  hopes   with 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  269 

Grace.  His  father  made  no  allusion  to  the  latter  during 
breakfast,  but  remarked  at  its  close  that  he  wished  his  son 
to  join  him  in  the  library  in  the  evening.  During  the  day 
Stephen  again  rode  over  to  Uplands,  and  again  did  the 
lovers  wander  side  by  side  through  the  old  walks  and 
favorite  haunts  which  had  witnessed  the  first  buddings  of 
that  love  which  was  to  last  for  them  always.  But  Stephen 
was  oppressed  with  the  suspicion  of  an  evil  which  was  to 
come. 

Evening  came,  and  the  father  and  son  sat  facing  each 
other  in  the  library,  the  light  of  a  pair  of  wax  candles 
scarcely  illuminating  the  large  ajoartment.  They  were 
gazing  on  each  other,  as  near  relatives  will  who  have  been 
separated,  to  note  the  differences  wrought  by  time  and  feel- 
ing since  their  last  parting.  The  old  man  had  failed  not  a 
little  since  Stephen  left  him  in  the  autumn.  His  cheek 
was  ashy  in  its  hue,  the  thin  grey  locks  were  bleaching 
fest,  and  the  dim  eye  which  peered  from  under  its  pent  of 
bristling  white  brows,  seemed  more  deeply  set  than  before. 
As  for  Stephen,  travel  had  rather  improved  him, — at  least 
so  it  appeared  to  the  father's  partial  eye, — and  so  it  had 
appeared  to  Grace. 

Throuo;h  the  windows  could  be  seen  banks  of  black  and 
drifting  clouds  through  which  the  rays  of  the  moon  now 
and  again  would  strive  to  peer  ;  and  the  wind  sighed 
mournfully  through  the  shrubs  and  trees. 

"  You  look  more  sturdy  and  manly  every  year,  Stephen," 
said  Martin  Dangerfield,  feebly,  "  more  like  my  own  father, 
as  I  remember  him  when  a  little  child,  than  like  me.  God 
help  me  !  I  shall  never  see  his  hale  and  mellow  old  age 
boy — havn't  lived  the  life,  in  truth,  to  deserve  it." 

"  Nonsense,  father,"  answered  Stephen  soothingly, 
"  your  life  is  better  than  most  men's  at  sixty.  You  mope 
and  shut  yourself  up  too  much.  You  must  make  a  change 
— take  more  exercise — live  more  in  the  open  air." 

"  Ay — ay — there's  much  in  that,  I  own — but  not  all — not 
all. — Your  grandfather  and  namesake  kept  the  saddle  ten 


270  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

years  beyond  my  present  age,  but" — with  an  effort  to  recal 
the  quotation — 

"  'In  his  youth  he  never  did  apply- 
Hot  and  rebelhous  hquors  in  his  blood.' 

You  see  I  can  quote  Shakespeare  still.  Yet  it  is  not  absti- 
nence or  exercise  alone  that  makes  men  live  sound  and 
long.  It  needs  a  sound  clear  heart,  Stephen, — an  unsul- 
lied conscience,  which  my  father  had, — and  your  father 
has  not." 

"  Who  shall  say  to  the  contrary  ?  No  one  in  the  world 
but  you,  sir,  I  fancy.  Who  can  say  anything  of  wrong  that 
lies  at  the  door  of  a  Dangerfield  ?" 

"  Three-score  years,"  the  old  man  went  on,  not  noticing 
the  question,  if  it  were  meant  for  one ;  "  ten  more  would 
be  the  allotted  span,  but  I  shall  never  reach  it.  There 
should  be  grandchildren  playing  about  my  knees  soon, 
my  son,  if  I  am  ever  to  see  them." 

Stephen  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"  I  would  you  had  them,  father  : — or  any  other  com- 
fort." 

"  The  old  Dangerfield  name  must  not  be  allowed  to  die 
out,  Stephen ;  I  shouldn't  rest  in  my  grave  if  I  thought 
it  would.  Promise  me,  my  boy, — my  son, — promise  me 
that  it  shall  not." 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,  sir,"  said  the  son,  smiling. 

"  Ay,  but  that's  it.  You  can  help  it ;  but,  perhaps, 
you'll  not  be  disposed." 

"  There  is  but  one  course  that  I  know  of,  and  I've 
expressed  my  willingness  to  take  that  course." 

"  There  is  my  fear — we've  all  been  such  a  stubborn  race 
— that  you  will  not  take  it." 

"  Surely,  sir,  you  remember  my  letter,  and  why  you 
have  summoned  me  here  ?"  said  Stephen,  in  surprise,  and 
beginning  to  think  the  old  man's  head  was  wandering. 

"  I  remember  everything,  Stephen — everything.  Some- 
times I  wish  I  could  not — but  'tis  part  of  the  punishment, 
no  doubt."     He  put  his  hand  on  his  son's  head  and  began 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  271 

to  smootbe  down  the  hair  as  if  he  were  a  little  child.  "  I 
remember  when  your  dear  mother  died,  and  how  she  prayed 
and  begged  that  your  life  might  be  a  happy  one — and  how 
she  made  me  promise  to  do  all  I  could  to  make  it  so.  And 
now — my  son — my  only  son — Oh,  Stephen,  Stephen  !  my 
boy,  my  poor  boy  !"  and  he  broke  into  a  choking  flood 
of  grief 

That  grief  of  an  aged  man  which  is  so  solemn  and  so 
awful — so  piteously  contrasting  with  the  superficial  passion 
of  youth.  Stephen  gazed  and  listened  in  amazement  and 
concern. 

" Father !  Father !  What  is  it?  What  has  happened  to 
you  ?  Speak  !  You'll  tell  Stephen ;  you'll  tell  your  son  all 
about  this  wretched  trouble  which  is  killing  you  ?" 

"But  you  won't  believe,"  faltered  forth  the  parent,  "you 
won't  believe,  whatever  happens,  but  that  I  loved  you,  and 
did  all  for  the  best  ?" 

"  No,  no.  Compose  yourself,  I  entreat  you.  Perhaps 
talking  distresses  you  just  now.     Shall  we  postpone — " 

"  No,  no  more  repetitions.  Let  me  say  what  is  to  be 
said,  do  what  is  to  be  done."  He  paused,  made  a  strong 
effort  to  recover  his  self-command,  and  then  went  on  in  a 
dull,  monotonous  voice,  like  one  reciting  what  he  has 
learned  by  heart.  "  I  wrote  for  you  to  come,  because  it 
was  not  well  to  write  what  I  had  to  say.  It  would  have 
been  too  long — you  would  have  misconceived — in  short,  it 
would  have  been  unwise." 

"  Go  on,  father  ;  I  listen." 

"  First,  I  must  ask  you — are  you  very  much  attached  to 
this  Miss — Vernon  ?" 

"I  love  her  better  than  my  own  life,"  said  Stephen,  simply. 

A  groan  burst  from  the  old  man's  lips,  much  as  he  strove 
to  repress  it.  He  resumed  hastily,  as  if  to  distract  atten- 
tion from  the  expression  of  pain : — 

"  Men  of  your  age  fall  in  with  many  women  they  fancy. 
You  are  not  a  child  to  be  led  away  by  a  pretty  face ;  but 
there  are  others  you  might  see  whom  you  might  prefer — at 
least — like  as  well?" 


272  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

"  Never.     I  have  chosen.     Once  and  for  all." 

"Don't  speak  so  positively,  Stephen.  We  all  change 
our  minds  occasionally.  Things  unforeseen  will  occur 
sometimes.    We  cannot  absolutely  dictate  our  own  future." 

"Father,  in  God's  name,  what  does  all  this  mean?" 

"  It  means — and  since  it  must  be  told  the  sooner  now 
the  better — it  means  that  this  -marriage  is  impossible  /" 

"How?" 

"  Your  marriage  with  this  young  lady — Miss  Vernon — 
is  impossible !" 

"Why?" 

"  It  can  never  take  place." 

"  Not  take  place  ?" 

"Never." 

The  younger  man  paused  a  few  moments,  as  if  to 
realize  the  full  meaning  of  what  he  heard,  and  then  said 
mildly — 

"  I  ask  you,  father,  to  tell  me  why  this  marriage  cannot 
take  place  ?" 

"  That  I  cannot  do." 

"  Cannot  or  will  not?" 

"  Both.     Either  would  suffice." 

"  Is  this  another  machination  of  that  scoundrel.  Kirk- 
wood  ?" 

"  He  knows  nothing  of  it — at  least  to  the  best  of  my 
knowledge  and  belief.  He  could  neither  produce,  change, 
nor  modify  this  necessity." 

"  The  necessity,  you  mean,  for  breaking  off  my  engage- 
ment?" 

"  Even  so." 

Another  pause  longer  than  before.  Then  Stephen  rose, 
and,  coming  straight  in  front  of  his  father,  again  spoke, 
and  this  time  his  tones  were  full  and  firm  :  — 

"  Look,  sir.  You  say  your  race  is  obstinate.  I  am  a 
Dangerfield  as  well  as  you.  You  refuse  to  give  reasons 
for  an  extraordinary  prohibition,  which  sounds  more  like 
madness  than  sanity,  and  whose  effect  would  be  to  poison 
my  whole  future  life,   and  that  of  another  which  is  yet 


BEFOKE  THE   STORM.  273 

more  dear.     Very  good.     Let  us  understand  each  other. 
I  shall  disobey  it." 

"You  dare  not?" 

"Why?" 

The  old  man  rose  slowly,  and  with  feeble  and  uncertain 
steps  crossed  the  room,  to  a  sombre- looking  cabinet  of  oak. 
Then  he  drew  a  key  from  his  pocket,  and  with  careful  but 
tremulous  fingers  unlocked  one  of  its  doors.  This  being 
opened,  showed  a  space  in  which  were  various  rolls  of 
papers  and  parchments,  and  which  was  backed  by  a  num- 
ber of  small  drawers.  One  of  these  was  then  drawn  forth, 
and  a  tiny  panel  removed,  which  covered  the  side  of  the 
aperture  occupied  by  the  drawer  when  in  its  place.  From 
the  space  thus  disclosed  Martin  Dangerfield  extracted  a 
sealed  packet,  and  then  turned  to  his  son  and  responded — 

"  I  will  tell  you  why.  But  first,"  extending  the  packet, 
"  read  that." 

Stephen  mechanically  read  the  superscription  : 

"2b  he  opened  by  my  son  after  my  death. 

"  Martin  Dangerfield." 

"  I  had  hoped,"  the  old  man  went  on  in  a  low  voice, 
"  never  to  have  even  alluded  to  the  contents  of  this  paper 
in  your  presence  while  I  lived.  Fate — perhaps  it  were 
more  reverent  to  say  the  hanft  of  Providence — has  willed 
it  otherwise.  Not  that  I  mean  to  reveal  what  is  here  in- 
closed— you  will  know  it  soon  enough.  Bat  I  show  it  to 
you,  that  you  may  be  more  fully  impressed  with  what  I 
now  tell  you.  Stephen  Dangerfield — by  my  honor — by 
my  mother's  memory — by  the  God  to  whom  I  shall  soon 
render  strict  account — I  swear  to  you  that  if  you  knew 
what  is  here  contained  you  would  be  as  sure  as  I  am  that 
this  marriage  never  can  take  place  !    Do  you  believe  me  ?" 

"  Why  not  acquaint  me  with  this  secret,  that  I  may 
judge?" 

"  Boy,  boy !"  cried  the  father  passionately,  "  would  you 
embitter  the  few  poor  days  which  are  yet  left  to  me  ?  Can 
you  not  trust  my  honor — the  honor  of  a  Dangerfield  ?" 

"  We  estimate  obstacles  differently,  sir,  at  different  ages, 

12* 


274  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

and  from  different  points  of  view.  Tins  may  seem  to  you 
insuperable,  to  me  easily  surmounted," 

"  Alas !  if  there  were  room  for  doubt,  you  might  che- 
rish such  a  hope.  Youth  or  age,  strength  or  weakness,  are 
powerless  alike  in  a  case  like  this.  Neither  one  nor  all 
can  bring  back  the  Past!" 

"But  they  may  atone  it,"  cried  Stephen  eagerly  ;  "  why 
should  a  phantom  of  misdeed,  or  of  mislike  perchance, 
come  groping  back  from  the  Past  to  ban  the  living,  breath- 
ing happiness  of  the  Present?" 

"  Man  in  years,  but  boy  in  knowledge,"  said  his  father, 
sadly,  **  not  to  know  that  it  is  only  that  which  cannot  be 
atoned  which  can  never  be  forgotten — whose  consequence 
can  never  be  escaped,  because  the  cause  is  inexpia- 
ble !" 

"  There  is  no  such  thing,"  said  Stephen,  "  save  in  the 
imaginations  which  coined  the  old  priest-dogmas  of  days 
gone  by.  There  is  repentance  and  atonement  for  every 
sin  and  for  every  sinner." 

"Heaven  send  it  may  be  so,"  answered  the  old  man 
devoutly,  "but  that  is  between  man  and  his  Maker.  I 
spoke  more  of  human  laws  and  of  human  customs." 

"One  word,"  said  Stephen,  as  his  father  proceeded  to 
replace  the  packet  whence  ne  took  it.  "  One  word — does 
your  visitor — does  this  Mr.  Kirkwood  know  of  the  secret 
contained  in  that  packet  ?" 

"  I  know  your  meaning,  Stephen.  I  tell  you  his  know- 
ledge or  his  ignorance — his  good  or  ill-will — would  have 
no  possible  bearing  on  this  issue  as  it  concerns  you  and 
yours." 

He  re-locked  the  cabinet  and  resumed  his  seat. 

"Now,  mark  mc,  my  son.  I  know  your  nature,  and 
•know  it  may  lead  you  to  believe  that  an  unreasonable 
obstruction — or  one  it  will  construe  as  such — ought  to 
be  over-ridden.  Let  us  suppose  you  proceed  to  act  upon 
such  an  assumption.  Let  us  suppose  you  persist  in  your 
engagement.  Shall  I  tell  you  the  result?  At  the  last 
moment,  you  will  oblige  me  to  take  a  position  which  will 


BEFOliE   THE   STORM.  275 

force  you  to  break  it  off,  and  which  will  cover  our  ancient 
name  with  ignominy  and  disgrace." 

"  You  seem  to  think  nothing  of  the  dishonorable  position 
/  should  occupy  by  breaking  off  this  engagement,  without 
the  excuse  of  an  assignable  reason  beyond  a  mere  caprice," 
said  Stephen  bitterly. 

"  I  do  not  forget  it.  But  of  two  evils  it  were  choosing 
the  least.  Or,  rather,  one  course  is  possible,  the  other 
absolutely  impossible.  Remember,  that  had  you  acquainted 
me  with  your  views  at  the  outset,  what  I  have  now  im- 
parted would  have  been  made  known  to  you  long  before." 

"  I  will  reflect,"  said  Stephen  rising  wearily,  for  he  felt 
as  if  it  must  be  that  he  were  in  a  dream,  and  that  he  must 
go  forth  into  the  cool  night  air. 

"  Do  so.  Remember,  I  ask  no  promises,  nor  do  I  offer  to 
put  upon  you  any  commands.  You  are  a  man — capable 
as  another  of  judging  for  yourself — beyond  the  years  of 
tutelage  or  control.  I  only  tell  you  the  simple  truth  and  I 
ask  you  to  put  confidence  in  my  honor.  God  knows  how 
glad  I  should  have  been  if  all  this  were  otherwise ;  how 
glad  to  aid,  and  sanction,  and  bless  you  in  your  choice.  It 
is  the  sole  wish  left  in  my  withered  heart  to  see  a  Danger- 
field  climbing  at  my  knee.  Think  then  how  hard  it  is  for 
me  to  oppose  your  wishes,  and  upon  such  a  subject !  Do  I 
not  in  so  doing  encounter  the  risk — perhaps  the  certainty, 
of  baffling  my  own  cherished  hope  ?" 

"  You  may  yet  be  deceived,"  murmured  Stephen  gloomily. 

"  Do  not  think  it !  Do  not  hope  it !  It  were  cruelty  in 
me  to  allow  you  to  do  either.  Had  I  died  without  giving 
you  this  solemn  warning  before  the  mischief  was  irrepara- 
ble, you  would  have  cursed  my  memory  for  the  omission." 

He  rang  the  bell  as  he  spoke  for  a  servant  to  assist  him 
to  his  chamber. 

"I  can  talk  no  more  now.  I  am  weak  and  faint — 
failing  day  by  day.  You  will  not  have  to  wait  long.  Poor 
Stephen — poor  boy !  It  is  hard,  I  know — hard  to  bear — 
but  you  are  young  and  strong — and  your  conscience  is 
a  clear  one.     God  bless  you — Good  night." 


276  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

He  went  up  to  bis  son  and  stooping  kissed  him  on 
the  forehead,  but  Stephen  made  no  sign  ;  and  long  after  be 
bad  gone  and  the  candles  were  extinguished,  Stephen  sat 
staring  into  the  darkness,  and  trying  to  shape  into  form  and 
coherence  the  confused  and  nameless  phantoms  which  bis 
imagination  conjured  up  as  part  and  parcel  of  the  gloomy 
future. 


CHAPTER  XXXYH. 


STEPHEN'S  old  vacillation  was  upon  bim.  He  bad 
thought  at  first  that  be  would  immediately  confer 
with  Yernon  and  relate  to  him  without  reserve  bis  inter- 
view with  bis  father  ;  but  be  paused,  and  as  usual  with 
bim  when  he  paused,  be  vacillated.  Most  of  all,  be  feared 
some  strange  unthought  of  disgrace  which  might  be  bang- 
ing over  bis  house  ;  some  buried  and  forgotten  misdeed, 
perchance,  which  discussion  might  unearth,  but  which 
silence  would  leave  in  oblivion  for  ever.  Yet,  was  be  then 
to  forego  bis  love,  to  fly  her  presence  without  adieux  or 
explanation  ?  He  felt  that  to  be  impossible.  There  re- 
mained one  alternative, — that  of  regarding  bis  father's 
prohibition, — his  solemn  warning, — as  the  mere  fancy  or 
caprice  of  a  weak  old  man,  whose  brain  was  unsettled  by 
the  pressure  of  years  and  protracted  illness. 

When  be  rode  up  to  the  piazza  at  Uplands  the  next 
morning,  his  brain  and  heart  filled  with  flickering  and 
uncertain  purposes,  be  could  have  embraced  honest  David 
Greenwood  for  relieving  his  embarrassment  on  at  least  one 
born  of  bis  dilemma. 

"  Squire  Yernon's  goin'  to  be  dreadful  busy  agin,"  said 
Uncle  Dave.  *'  The  delegation  folks  have  come,  and  they're 
beginnin'  to  worry  about  the  election  and  platforms  and 
caucussin'  and  all  the  rest  on't.  He  hez  to  spring  to't  allers 
when  he  consents  to  stand." 

"  The  place  is  looking  very  lovely  again,  David,"  said 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  277 

Stephen,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  as  he  dismounted,  "  but  I 
suppose  you've  had  a  bleak  time  of  it  in  the  winter  while 
I've  been  away  in  the  sunny  South  ?" 

"  Bless  you,  sir,  it's  never  what  you  may  call  bleak  here. 
To  be  sure,  we're  kinder  set  high  up,  but  there's  so  many 
trees  round,  and  most  on  'em  of  the  evergreen  sort,  that 
here  at  the  house  it's  as  snug  as  can  be.  But  you  know 
how  it  is  at  The  Eest." 

"  I've  scarcely  passed  a  winter  there  since  I  was  a  child, — 
and  I  took  little  heed  of  the  seasons  then, — except  so  far 
as  they  marked  the  times  for  fruits  and  nuts  and  kites  and 
skating  to  come  round." 

"  Pity  you  hev  been  away  so  much,  Mr.  Stephen,"  said 
David,  respectfully.  "  It's  only  a  poor  man  need  be  remind- 
ed of  the  rollin'  stone,  may  be  ; — but  there's  most  allers 
them  that  comes  and  gathers  the  moss  in  the  nest  which  the 
rich  ones  leave — and  sometimes  carries  away  the  nest  itself." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  David  ?"  asked  Stephen  sharply. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"You  won't  feel  bad  at  anything /say,  sir,"  answered 
David,  leaning  carelessly  against  Black  Vixen's  stalwart 
shoulder  and  stroking  down  her  mane.  "  I'm  only  afeard 
that  ere  gentleman  who's  stayed  so  much  at  The  Rest  ain't 
there  for  no  good.  You  know,  sir,  servants  and  folks  who 
stay  all  their  lives  round  a  place  get  to  have  a  kind  of 
instinct  like  the  dumb  critters  as  to  what  means  harm  and 
what  good  that  comes  nigh  'em." 

"  You  think  our  people  dislike  Mr.  Kirkwood  ?" 

"  They  know  he  don't  mean  the  master  nor  his  son  any 
good  ;  for  all  he's  very  good-natered  to  'em,  and  often 
gives  'em  money  and  all  that.  You  can  alius  profit  by 
such  things,  sir.  You  can  tell  of  a  comin'  storm  by  the 
cattle,  and  a  pinter's  nose  is  sharper  than  a  human's  for  the 
trail  of  a  partridge.  I  wanted  to  kinder  warn  you  before  ; 
but  I  hain't  got  no  call  gen'rally  to  be  ofiicious.  I  b'lieve 
in  folks  mindin'  their  own  business,  tho'  we  Yankees  are 
called  inquisitive.  But  I  wish  you'd  talk  to  the  little  gal 
— I  mean  little  Miss  Ally,  sir." 


278  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  Miss  Ally  1  why,  what  does  she  know  about  the  mat- 
ter ?" 

"  P'raps  jest  nothing  at  all — and  agin,  p'raps  a  good 
deal.  She's  got  a  head  of  her  own,  and  she's  shy  about 
talking  of  anything  but  her  play  and  such  things.  But 
one  day  I  see  her  in  the  lane  that  leads  down  through  our 
wood,  facin'  over  agin  Shooter's  Jutty — and  he  came  on 
the  other  side  of  the  fence  and  spoke  to  the  child.  I  was 
too  fur  off  to  hear  what  he  said  even  if  I'd  had  a  mind, 
but  I  jest  kept  behind  the  trees  to  see  little  Miss  come  away 
safe.  When  she  did  come,  it  was  very  slow  and  thought- 
ful like — queer  for  a  little  lady  like  that." 

"  And  you  think  there's  some  connexion  between  this 
mysterious  interview  and  the  gentleman's  evil  designs  at 
The  Rest  ?"  queried  Stephen,  smiling. 

•'  I  don't  know  nuthin'  about  that.  I  only  tell  you  the 
fact,  sir,  which  hain't  been  told  to  nobody  else.  You  can 
judge  for  yourself  as  to  the  meanin'  on't.  It's  my  notion 
tho'  that  no  such  man's  that  ever  puts  out  his  hand  without 
the  idee  of  strikin'  somethin'  with  it.  Shall  I  hev'  the 
saddle  taken  off  the  mare,  sir  ?" 

"  No— yes — "  said  Stephen  abstractedly.  "Perhaps  it 
will  be  best.  Many  thanks  for  your  advice,  David,  and 
for  your  information.  It  may  be  of  use  some  day,"  and 
he  walked  slowly  and  thoughtfully  into  the  house, 

"Dear  Grace!" 

"  Dear  Stephen !" 

She  had  been  sitting  at  the  piano-forte  running  half 
unconsciously  over  the  airs  which  Elinor  used  to  love  so 
well.  Her  lover  had  caught  the  concluding  bars  of  the 
Jast  one.  It  was  that  which  Cuthbert  Boynton  used  so 
often  to  ask  for,  and  which  he  had  alluded  to  during 
Stephen's  visit  to  his  plantation — calling  it  with  a  mournful 
pleasantry  the  requiem  of  his  lost  love.  No  wonder  poor 
Stephen  did  not  like  the  augury. 

"  You  look  sad  this  morning,  Stephen." 

"I  shall  not,  long,  in  your  presence,  love." 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  279 

Indeed,  who  could  ?  Grace  was  becoming  more  matured 
by  the  tiny  degrees  so  charming  to  those  who  have  watched 
the  development  of  beautiful  girls,  and  with  her  snowy 
morning  frock  and  sunny  smile  she  looked  the  very  ideal 
of  a  new  Goddess — half  Hebe,  half  Venus— who  should 
intoxicate  with  equal  inspirations  of  mirth  and  love. 

"  What  do  you  think  I've  got,  sir?" 

"  How  can  I  guess  ?  A  philtre  perhaps  to  make  all  fall 
in  love  who  come  in  contact  with  you  ?  I  shall  object  to 
that." 

"  Something  better — something  I  really  wanted — not 
what  I  can  do  without,  you  saucy  fellow ; — see !"  and  she 
held  up  a  letter. 

"  A  letter — and  from  whom  ?" 

"From  the  dearest,  best,  purest,  most  obstinate  girl  in 
Christendom !" 

"An  odd  description  truly.     You  mean " 

"  Who  should  I  mean  but  darling  Nelly  !" 

"  I  was  so  selfish  not  to  have  asked  for  her  last  night. 
We  all  knew  of  her  absence,  but  not  the  why  or  where- 
fore." 

"I  didn't  quite  like  to  write  about  that.  You  would 
scarcely  have  understood  without  so  long  an  explanation ; 
and  I  couldn't  bear  any  one  we  love  to  think  slightly  of 
her." 

"  Slightly  of  one  like  Miss  Grazebrook  ?     Impossible." 

"  Oh,  you  men  are  so  odd.  You  find  it  so  hard  to  com- 
prehend all  the  crooks  and  crannies  of  a  woman's  heart — 
and  it's  always  so  much  easier  to  censure  than  to  praise." 

"  She  hasn't  committed  a  murder,  I  suppose,"  laughed 
Stephen,  "and  that's  about  the  only  thing  I  can  think 
of  which  would  shake  my  esteem." 

"  Not  so  bad  as  that — but — in  strict  confidence,  mind  !" — 

"  In  strict  confidence — " 

"  She's  gone  on  the  Stage !" 

"Gone  on  the  Stage?     In  Heaven's  name  what  for?" 

"  What  for  ?     Why,  to  act,  to  be  sure." 

"  Miss  Grazebrook  become  an  actress." 


280  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  Yes.     It's  not  disgraceful." 

"  Not  disgraceful,  certainly,  if  dictated  by  necessity — 
but  she—" 

"  She  thought  it  necessary  in  her  case.  You  know  how 
fastidious  and  sensitive  she  is  in  all  her  notions.  She 
believed  it  to  be  her  duty." 

"And  was  it  for  this  that  she  rejected  poor  Boynton  ?" 

"  Indeed  not ;  and  it  distressed  her  very  much  that  he 
might  think  so." 

"  He  can  think  nothing  about  it — at  least  so  far.  I  feel 
quite  sure  he  is,  or  was  when  I  left  him,  ignorant  of  the 
fact." 

"And  where  did  you  leave  him  ?" 

"In  New  York — at  the  Clarendon.  We  came  up  from 
Charleston  together," 

"  And  do  you  think  that  he — he  cares  for  her  as  much 
as  ever  ?" 

"  I  believe  that  he  is  madly  in  love  with  her ;  that  he 
loves  her  almost  as  dearly  as  I  love  some  one  else  you 
know  of." 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  think  so." 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Because  I'm  equally  certain  that  she  truly  loves  him." 

"  Loves  him  ?  Then  why  for  Heaven's  sake  should  she 
reject  him — and  that  merely  to  indulge  in  such  a  wild 
freak  as  going  on  the  stage?" 

"That's  so  like  a  man.  I've  told  you  already,  silly  fel- 
low, that  that  was  not  her  motive." 

"Perhaps  you'll  tell  me  now,  then,  what  loas  her  mo- 
tive?" 

"  I'm  not  quite  sure,  Stephen,  but  that  might  be  a  breach 
of  confidence,"  said  Grace  seriously.  "  Do  you  know 
how  long  he  stays  in  New  York  ?" 

"  He  was  to  go  to  Boston  for  a  day  or  two,  and  then 
return.  We  are  to  meet  again  at  the  hotel — but  how  long 
he'll  remain  I  don't  know.  I  suspect  he'll  scarcely  go 
South  again  without  trying  to  see  or  hear  from  Ae?\" 

"  And  I'm  quite  sure  he  won't — if  what  you  tell  me  of  his 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  281 

feelings  be  true.  Therefore,  what  you  ask  me  he  had  bet- 
ter learn  from  Elinor  herself" 

"  But  will  she  see  him,  think  you  ?" 

"  I  should  scarcely  think  she  would  refuse."  Grace 
paused  a  little  and  reflected.  "  Do  you  know  what  I'm 
thinking  about  ?" 

Stephen  smiled. 

"  Your  thought  is  much  the  same  as  mine,  I  fancy." 

"  Mine  is  of  how  much  I  should  like  to  bring  this  loving 
pair  together ;  is  that  yours  ?" 

"  Precisely." 

"Good,  But  it  must  be  very  delicately  managed.  I 
shall  write  a  very  careful  letter  to  Nelly,  letting  her  know 
that  he  has  come  North  ;  and  you  shall  write  a  very  care- 
ful letter  to  Mr.  Boynton,  telling  him  where  she  is." 

"Agreed." 

"  And  now  wait  until  I  fetch  my  hat  and  shawl,  that  we 
may  take  a  walk,  and  arrange  particulars." 

So  they  wandered  about  the  wq}1  known  walks  and  paths, 
noting  each  favorite  shrub  and  tree,  gazing  on  each  lovely 
view,  all  sanctified  and  precious  as  entwined  into  the  his- 
tory of  their  own  love,  and  plotting  their  affectionate  con- 
spiracy, that  others  might  share  the  bliss  themselves  had 
found  so  sweet.  And  Grace  told  Stephen  much  of  which 
he  was  previously  in  ignorance  regarding  the  sad  incidents 
of  poor  Elinor's  life,  and  its  many  sorrows.  Yet,  although 
Stephen  listened  with  an  eager  ear,  and  built  much  at  first 
on  obtaining  through  the  details  of  Kirkwood's  strange 
relations  with  the  inmates  of  Uplands,  a  clue  to  his  con- 
nexion with  his  father,  the  reader  need  not  be  told  that  the 
knowledge  thus  gained  only  left  that  connexion  as  clouded 
^nd  mysterious  as  before. 


282  dangerfield's  rest;  or 


CHAPTER   XXXYIII. 

THE  stately  natural  wall  called  the  Palisades,  wliich  rises 
on  the  west  bank  of  the  Hudson,  commences  to  ap- 
pearance at  a  point  about  ten  miles  above  the  space  where 
that  river  debouches  into  the  noble  estuary  of  New  York 
Harbor.  We  say  "  to  appearance  "  in  view  of  the  fact  that 
geologists  find  a  continuation  of  the  Palisades  in  the  heights 
of  Staten  Island,  and  even  trace  them  further  south  into 
the  Jersey  hills.  Towering  to  a  height  of  some  four  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  level  of  the  stream,  it  stretches  away 
northwards,  maintaining  an  almost  even  altitude  for  many 
miles  beyond.  The  crest  is  all  but  unbroken,  for  the  imper- 
vious crags  which  support  it  yield  scanty  outlet  for  water- 
courses, and  the  drainage  of  the  back  country  is  therefore 
driven  westward,  to  mingle  with  the  waters  of  the  Hack- 
ensack.  The  cross  section  of  this  vast  wall  generally  ex- 
hibits a  sheer  perpendicular  for  a  great  part  of  its  height, 
which  appears  as  if  it  would  be  quite  parallel  with  a  plum- 
met— which  perpendicular  is  then  met  by  a  line  running 
straight  to  the  river,  at  an  apparent  angle  of  forty-five 
degrees  to  its  surface.  This  latter  is  the  crumbling — the 
talus  from  the  face  of  the  precipice,  which,  in  the  course  of 
ages,  has  slid  down  towards  the  stream.  We  have  inti- 
mated that  this  transverse  figure  is  almost  uniform,  and 
indeed  there  are  few  exceptions ;  one,  however,  existed  at 
the  time  of  which  we  write,  which  was  situated  at  about 
a  mile  from  Uplands,  and  in  the  direction  of  Dangerfield's 
Eest. 

Here  there  occurred  a  small  indentation  in  the  shore, 
which,  viewed  in  connexion  with  a  corresponding  rift  or 
fissure  in  the  cliff  above,  seemed  to  indicate  that  the  waters 
of  a  creek  might  at  some  time  have  made  their  way  through 
to  the  river.  There  was  no  other  trace  of  such  a  thing 
than  was  suggested  by  this  conformation,  except  perhaps 
that  the  crest  on  the  north  side  projected  outwards  towards 
the  stream,  overreaching  in  truth  the  accumulations  at  its 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  283 

base.  Seen  from  above,  this  projection  constituted  a  trian- 
gular piece  of  ground,  its  sharpened  apex  pointing  boldly 
eastward  over  the  flood  below.  It  was  covered  with  turf, 
flecked  with  many  rocky  outcrops,  and  it  sustained  a  strag- 
gling growth  of  dwarfed  evergreens.  The  spot  was  con- 
sidered dangerous,  and  a  strong  fence  ran  along  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  form  what  might  be  called  the  base  of  the 
triangle,  although  well  inward  from  the  edge  of  the  preci- 
pice, from  whence  sprung  its  northern  limb.  This  line  of 
fence  was  met  by  another,  at  a  right  angle,  which  guarded 
the  ravine,  and  effectually  protected  stray  cattle  or  un- 
guarded passengers  from  the  critical  ground  beyond.  There 
were  rather  thick  woods,  both  on  the  side  of  Uplands  and 
that  of  Dangerfield's  Eest,  however,  which  made  it  rather 
improbable  that  any  such  risk  should  arise.  This  space — 
valueless  save  for  the  picturesque  addition  it  made  to  the 
view  from  below  and  from  the  wood  on  the  Uplands  boun- 
dary— was  known  to  the  country  round  as  "  Shooter's 
Jutty." 

Perhaps  it  had  been  a  favorite  haunt  years  gone  by  for 
the  fowler  when  the  unchecked  barbarism  which  hates 
game  laws  as  "aristocratic,"  had  not  yet  succeeded  in  sub- 
stituting the  more  democratic  extermination  which  is  the 
logical  consequent  of  their  absence.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
the  place  presented  attractions  some  time  back  for  one 
of  our  dramatis  personae — for  no  other,  in  fact,  than  Mr. 
James  Kirkwood. 

Kirkwood  had  an  exquisite  instinct  for  things  myste- 
rious and  hidden — for  places  unfrequented  and  solitary. 
He  had  found  his  account  many  a  time  in  the  cultivation 
of  such,  and  he  was  not  long  at  The  Eest  before  he  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Shooter's  Jutty,  He  questioned  the 
people  at  the  village — not  at  the  mansion — asking  in  his 
careless  way  what  was  thought  of  the  spot,  and  receiving 
solemn  warning  as  to  its  insecurity  and  utter  avoidance  by 
all  prudent  and  sensible  folks  in  consequence.  These  inti- 
mations afforded  him  much  gratification,  suggesting  as 
they  did  the  safety  and  isolation  of  a  place  environed  bj 


284  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

sucli  terrors,  and  its  peculiar  fitness  for  an  object  which  he 
had  in  view.  As  for  danger  he  laughed  at  it.  Many  a 
mountain-road  had  he  traversed  in  the  saddle  where  the 
plunging  carion  a  thousand  feet  below  threatened  to 
engulf  the  giddy  head  or  the  stumbling  foot  which  caused 
the  slightest  blunder  in  the  narrow  causeway.  Many  a 
steep  had  he  thundered  down  at  a  half  gallop,  like  those  of 
Downieville  and  Goodyear's  Bar,  where  his  clear,  hard 
brain  had  instructed  him  that,  as  in  battle,  the  most 
courageous  course  was  also  the  safest  one.  The  idea  of 
danger  to  a  cool  head  and  a  steady  foot  at  such  a  place  as 
Shooter's  Jutty  was  simply  absurd — but  then  it  might  be 
very  useful. 

And  he  was  quite  right.  For,  when  he  tried  the  experi- 
ment, after  a  cautious  rcconnoissance  whereby  he  satisfied 
himself  that  no  one  marked  or  dogged  his  steps,  he  found 
the  place  as  firm  and  steady  to  his  tread  as  adamant.  He 
lay  there  a  whole  afternoon  in  the  shade  of  the  pines, 
smoking  and  delectating  himself  with  the  superior  view 
which  his  position  afforded  of  both  up  and  down  the  river. 

Upon  his  second  visit — which  was  in  the  grey  of  evening 
— Mr.  Kirkwood  carried  under  his  cloak  a  long  flat  metallic 
box,  which,  with  the  aid  of  a  heavy  bowie  knife — an  old 
and  favorite  companion — and  a  small  gardener's  trowel,  he 
proceeded  to  deposit  in  the  earth  at  a  point  near  the  end  of 
the  Jutty.  This  he  accomplished  with  great  dexterity, 
arranging  the  surface  of  the  ground  afterward  with  artistic 
finish  and  naturalness. 

On  the  occasion  of  his  third  visit,  Kirkwood  made  some 
additions  to  his  store,  selecting  this  time  rather  an  earlier 
hour  than  before.  This  was  an  error,  especially  when  it  is 
considered  to  have  been  dictated  by  no  worthier  motive 
than  that  of  being  able  to  sit  ad  libitum  over  his  wine  after 
dinner.  From  such  trifling  causes  will  oftenest  spring 
great  results.  He  flattered  himself  that  his  stealthy  pro- 
cedures had  been  unobserved,  and  in  the  two  first  instances 
lie  was  not  deceived ;  not  so  in  respect  to  the  third,  for  this 
time  he  had  a  spectator  if  not  an  audience.     This  was  on 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  285 

the  day  when  David  Greenwood  had  seen  him  speaking 
with  the  child,  Alabama. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 


A  WEEK  had  passed  since  Stephen's  return.  Kirkwood 
still  tarried  in  New  York,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of 
both  the  gentlemen  at  The  Rest,  whose  lives  glided  on 
with  a  placidity  which  would  have  included  content,  but 
for  the  gnawing  presentiments  of  evil  which  were  canker- 
ing the  hearts  of  each.  The  younger  man  had  gladly 
availed  of  the  excuse  for  deferring  his  confidence,  which 
was  furnished  by  Yernon's  absorption  in  political  cares ; 
while  the  elder  was  happy  in  the  suspension  of  strife,  and 
the  temporary  immunity  from  menace,  let  them  be  due  to 
what  cause  they  might.  Yet  both  were  well  aware  that 
this  was  but  the  deceitful  quiet  which  heralded  the  ap- 
proach of  the  inevitable  tempest. 

Stephen  spent  much  time  at  Uplands.  The  last  hours 
of  his  love — if  last  they  were  to  prove — should  be  like 
those  last  notes  of  the  swan,  which  are  said  to  be  its  sweet- 
est ones.  He  had  not  breathed  a  syllable  to  Grace  of  the 
cloud  which  was  gathering  over  their  future,  and  she  had 
rallied  him  at  times  on  his  dejection  without  suspecting  its 
cause.  She  had  spoken  of  her  desire  to  see  his  father — of 
how,  in  Stephen's  absence,  she  had  thought  it  her  duty  to 
do  so — and  how  her  own  papa  had  counselled  delay  until 
the  return  of  her  affianced.  But  the  latter  looked  very 
grave,  and  spoke  of  his  father's  illness,  and  his  unfitness 
just  now  to  receive  visitors,  so  that  although  the  girl  won- 
dered, her  delicacy  would  not  permit  her  to  dwell  on  the 
subject,  and  it  was  therefore  abandoned. 

One  day  Stephen  had  a  i^te-d-tete  with  little  Alabama. 
Yernon  had  a  great  deal  of  correspondence,  and  Grace,  as 
often  happened,  was  pressed  into  his  service  as  amanuensis. 


286  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

Our  hero  bethought  him  of  the  information  he  had  derived 
from  David  Greenwood,  and  that  this  was  a  favorable 
opportunity  for  its  corroboration  and  extension.  He  there- 
fore took  the  child  for  a  walk,  and  managed  that  it  should 
be  in  the  direction  of  Shooter's  Jutty.  As  they  sauntered 
on,  he  listened  to  her  artless  prattle,  and  watched  his  op- 
portunity to  introduce  the  subject  of  his  thoughts.  Ste- 
phen, like  most  men  of  manly  natures,  was  fond  of  chil- 
dren, and  his  interest  in  this  one  was  enhanced  by  his 
knowledge  of  Grace's  attachment  for  her,  and  of  the  melan- 
choly and  romantic  circumstances  of  her  birth  and  paren- 
tage. 

"  So,  Ally  dear,  you  like  the  walks  in  this  direction  ?" 

"  Very  much.  Only  Papa  Vernon  does  not  like  me  to 
come  this  way  alone — not  even  with  sister  Grace — for  some 
good  reason,  I'm  sure." 

"And  you  always  do  as  he  wishes?" 

The  child  hesitated. 

^^  Almost  always.  Once  I  came  a  long  way  over  here, 
picking  berries  and  flowers.  I  didn't  know  I  was  so  far. 
When  I  thought  of  it,  I  meant  to  go  straight  back," 

"  And  you  did  so,  eh  ?" 

Another  pause. 

"  Not  directly — I  was  prevented  for  a  little." 

"  By  what  ?  more  berries  and  flowers  further  on  ?" 

"  Oh  !  no.  I  wouldn't  have  stopped  for  them.  A  gen 
tleman  stopped  me." 

"  Some  one  visiting  at  the  house,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  No  ;  not  at  our  house." 

"A  stranger,  then?" 

"  He  didn't  seern  quite  a  stranger,"  said  the  child  thought- 
fully.   "  I  thought  I  had  seen  him  before." 

"  And  he  spoke  to  you  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  was  frightened  at  first,  he  was  so  tall  and  dark- 
looking — taller  than  you,  and  with  very  black  eyes.  But 
his  voice  was  soft,  and  he  lifted  me  up  in  his  arms,  and 
kissed  my  forehead,  and  I  knew  then  he  wouldn't  hurt 
me." 


BEFOEE  THE   STORM.  287 

"  And  what  did  he  say?" 

"  He  asked  my  name,  and  I  told  him  '  Ally.'  Then  he 
said,  '  That  stands  for  Alice,  I  suppose,'  and  I  answered, 
'  No — for  Alabama.'  '  That's  a  queer  name,'  he  said, 
smiling,  and  I  told  him  it  was  not  queer,  that  my  old  papa 
had  given  it  to  me,  because  it  was  the  name  of  his  State — 
the  State  he  was  born  in.  And  he  asked,  '  Where  is  your 
old  papa  ?'  and  I  answered  that  he  was  gone  away,  never 
to  come  back,  and  that  Mr.  Yernon  was  my  papa  now. 
Then  he  cried." 

"  Cried !" 

"  Yes ;  wet  fell  on  my  face,  and  I  looked  up  and  saw  he 
was  crying." 

"  That  was  strange,  wasn't  it  ?" 

"  No  ;  not  strange.  He  told  me  why  it  was.  He  had 
lost  a  little  girl,  who  would  have  been  just  my  age  now, 
and  the  thought  of  her  made  him  cry." 

"  Oh  !  I  see.     That  was  quite  natural." 

The  two  walked  on  some  time  in  silence.  Stephen  was 
thinking — as  we  all  are  apt  to  think  on  such  occasions — 
"  Can  this  man  be  wholly  bad  ?"  and  arriving  at  that  con- 
clusion which  experience  ever  teaches,  that,  even  in  the 
darkest  of  human  souls  shall  be  found  some  redeeming 
glimmer — however  faint  though  it  be — to  grow  in  time  to 
extinguish  evil,  and  assert  immortality ;  for  who  shall  say 
in  these  latter  da^^s  that  any  good  can  ever  die  ?  None, 
let  us  hope  and  trust ;  at  least  none  who  believe  in  immor- 
tality itself. 

"  And  that  was  all  ?"  asked  Stephen  at  last,  in  a  softened 
voice. 

"  That  was  all  he  said." 

"  And  you  never  saw  him  before — never  have  seen  him 
since  ?" 

"  That  was  the  only  day  I've  ever  seen  him,  that  I  know." 

There  was  a  little  childish  duplicity  in  this.  The  truth 
was,  that  Ally  had  wandered  into  the  woods,  and  had 
caught  sight  of  Kirkwood  when  he  was  busied  among  the 
bushes  on  the  Jutty,  when  he  paid  his  third  visit  to  that 


288  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

perilous  locality.  The  child's  curiosity  had  been  excited,  and 
she  had  watched  all  his  procedures  while  he  remained  on 
the   point.     As   it  was   slightly  higher  than  the  ground 
whereon  she  stood,  she  was  unable  to  determine  precisely 
what  he  did ;  but  she  felt  sure  he  either  took  something 
from  the  earth,  or  placed  something  in  it.     When  he  left 
the  spot,  she  had  withdrawn  from  the  wood ;  and  it  was 
when  she  emerged  into  the  open,  near  the  lane  alluded  to  by 
David  G-reenwood,  that  Kirkwood  caught  sight  of  her,  and 
imagined  she  had  been  simply  approaching  from  the  direc- 
tion of  Uplands.     All  this  Ally  had  imparted  to  Grace, 
who,  after  grave  consideration,  had  told  the  child  not  to 
speak  of  it  to  any  one  else.     Of  course  that  portion  which 
related  to  her  interview  with  Kirkwood,  she  need  not  deny 
or  try  to  conceal,  as  it  seemed  probable  from  her  account 
that  David  Greenwood,  who  joined  and  took  charge  of  her 
immediately  afterwards,  might  have  witnessed  it;  but  of 
what  she  saw  occur  on  the  Jutty,  she  must  say  not  a  word. 
Grace's  policy  was  dictated  by  the  simplest  of  feminine 
considerations.     She  had  been  accustomed  to  hear  the  Jutty 
pronounced  a  most  dangerous  place  to  venture  upon.     K 
Stephen  Dangerfield  were  apprised  of  the  incident  he  would 
as  certainly  attempt  to  penetrate  the  mystery  by  going  there: 
so  that  it  was  best,  at  least  for  the  present,  that  he  should 
know  nothing  about  it.  Hence  her  instructions  to  the  child, 
which  were  coupled  with  such  information  as  to  their  wis- 
dom and  propriety  as  would  serve  to  shield  her  tender  con- 
science from  the  soil  of  a  needless  deceit.     And  so  Grace 
determined — knowing  as  she  did,  that  she  could  count  on 
Ally's  reticence — to  keep  the  secret  locked  in  their  own 
hearts  until  it  might  be  judicious  or  safe  to  employ  it  for 
any  useful  purpose  hereafter. 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  289 


CHAPTER  XL. 

AEAW  spring  day.  The  blustering  wind  roared 
through  the  streets,  which  were  ankle-deep  with  mud 
and  half-melted  snow.  Elinor  had  come  in  from  rehearsal 
with  wet  feet,  and  Mrs.  Maberly  had  forced  her  to  sit  by 
the  fire  in  the  little  sitting-room,  while  she  herself  went 
forth  to  do  some  necessary  shopping  for  the  evening's 
toilette.  And,  in  truth,  Elinor  was  not  sorry  to  be  alone 
for  a  time,  for  she  had  weighty  responsibility  that  night. 
She  hastily  changed  her  chaussure  and  wet  skirts,  and  now 
sat  in  front  of  the  little  grate  absorbed  in  the  study  of  Vir- 

ginia.     For  the  great  Mr.  Bellow  had  come  to  P for 

positively  six  nights  only,  and  was  to  appear  to-night  as 
the  energetic  Roman  Father ;  and  he  had  objected  strenu- 
ously,— albeit  he  gallantly  refrained  from  expressing  his 
true  reasons — to  the  matured  style  and  somewhat  exuber- 
ant person  of  Miss  Adeline  de  Yere  to  illustrate  the  shrink- 
ing chey-l-d,  whose  wrongs  he  was  to  avenge.  "  'Twere 
most  unwise,  my  dear,"  he  assured  that  dubious  and  rather 
belligerent  artiste,  "  to  sacrifice  your  position  in  a  mere 
walking  lady  like  Virginia^  when  you  have  to  act  Lady 
Macbeth  and  Mrs.  Haller  on  the  two  nights  succeeding.  The 
young  lady  can  get  through  the  part — not,  of  course,  with 
your  finish  and  artistic  vigor — which  afterward  in  contrast 
with  her  feeble  style  and  amateurish  manner  will  'stick 
fiery-off  indeed.'-"  Miss  de  Vere  was  inclined  to  grumble, 
but  Mugford  assured  her  with  secret  and  vindictive  threats 
that  Bellow  must  be  propitiated  in  view  of  his  own  metro- 
politan designs.  Then  she  appealed  to  Grinder,  but  that 
gentleman  insisted  that  he  could  not  interfere,  much  as  he 
desired  it,  with  the  stage-manager's  business.  Whereupon 
Miss  de  Vere,  although  somewhat  ruffled,  inasmuch  as  her 
choice  in  characters  was  invariably  in  the  precise  inverse 
ratio  of  her  suitability  for  them,  made  a  merit  of  necessity, 
and  coolLy  informed  Elinor  that  her  good  fortune  in  being 
oast  for  Virginia  was  exclusively  owing  to  her  own  inter- 

13 


290  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

cession  with  Mugford  and  the  great  tragedian,  -whom  she 
had  difficulty  in  persuading  to  leave  her  out  of  the  piece 
that  Elinor  might  have  so  fine  an  opportunity  for  dis- 
tinction. 

Elinor  was  thinner  and  paler  than  when  we  saw  her  last. 
Late  hours  and  hard  work  had  had  their  effect  on  a  con- 
stitution which,  although  elastic  and  vigorous,  was  by  no 
means  robust.  But  her  dark  eyes  and  her  golden  hair 
_were  as  beautiful  as  ever,  and  her  complexion  almost  as 
radiant.  Nor  was  the  symmetry  of  her  rounded  bust 
impaired,  although  the  plain  dress  of  dark  stuff  did  little 
to  set  forth  its  perfections ;  and,  as  she  sat  leaning  back  in 
her  chair  eagerly  conning  the  words  with  the  slight  sym- 
pathetic tremor  of  the  person  which  accompanies  that  of 
the  lips  with  people  who  learn  much  by  rote,  the  same 
tiny,  dainty,  arching  foot  could  be  seen  we  first  admired  on 
board  the  Assyria. 

Elinor  was,  indeed,  passing  through  a  season  of  sore 
trial.  She  had  calculated  in  advance  what  she  would  have 
to  go  through,  but  as  with  most  of  us  in  worldly  affairs, 
there  had  been  some  things  unforeseen  left  out  of  her 
calculation.  She  had  measured  steadily  the  hard,  exacting 
toil  she  was  expected  to  face  and  grapple ;  and  her  heart 
did  not  fail  her,  for  she  felt  equal  to  the  task.  She 
had  contemplated  and  prepared  herself  for  the  deprivation 
of  the  suitable  and  congenial  society  to  which  she  had  so 
long  been  accustomed ;  and  consoled  herself  in  the  belief 
that  her  intellectual  needs  would  be  filled  and  absorbed  by 
study  and  ambition.  She  had  even  anticipated  and  steeled 
herself  against  the  probable  contempt  of  some  of  the 
coarse-minded  and  hard-hearted  ones  who  were  of  the 
circles  she  had  quitted,  and  who  might  stumble  across 
her  path  in  her  new  career.  If  she  was  not  necessary 
to  them  they  were  not  necessary  to  her. 

But  she  was  not  quite  prepared  for  the  narrow  and 
sordid  associations — the  miserable  petty  jealousies  and 
cabals — the  wearisome,  exaggerated  manners — all  which 
were  characteristic  of  most   of  the  dwellers  in  the   little 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  291 

world  she  had  entered.  She  did  not  know  in  her  inno- 
cence, that  the  very  appreciation  of  her  superior  education 
and  breeding  would  bring  her  persecution  and  annoyance 
from  the  small  natures  whose  worst  qualities  are  nourished 
by  the  peculiarities  of  the  lives  they  lead,  and  of  which 
the  most  conspicuous  is  hatred  of  any  species  of  superiority 
they  cannot  hope  to  equal  or  excel.  It  is  true  that  this 
hard  lesson  is  to  be  learned  on  other  stages  besides  those  of 
small  provincial  theatres ;  but  in  the  latter  it  is  pronounced 
and  intensified  by  the  constant  recurrence  of  appeals  to  the 
smallest  of  meannesses — the  most  contemptible  of  vanities. 

The  men — with  some  exceptions — were  constantly  annoy- 
ing her  with  sickening  under-bred  compliments,  and  en- 
deavoring to  establish  a  footing  of  easy  familiarity  which 
Elinor  found  it  quite  impossible  not  to  repel — so  provoking 
their  ill-feeling  by  piquing  their  self-love.  The  women, 
lavish  in  affection  and  proffered  intimacy,  each  labored  to 
set  her  against  all  the  others,  and  naturally  resented  the 
cool  civility  with  which  poor  Elinor  thought  after  a  time 
to  avoid  entangling  alliances,  and  so  diminish  the  chances 
of  war.  Both  sexes,  possessing  greater  experience  of  the 
Stage,  had  constantly  recurring  opportunities  of  avenging 
themselves  on  the  new-comer  for  what  they  regarded  as  the 
slights  she  had  put  upon  them,  and  which  they  charac- 
terized, in  general,  as  "  patting  on  airs." 

Nor  was  it  the  regular  company  alone  which  contributed 
to  the  sum  of  Elinor's  griefs  and  annoyances.  There  came 
in  due  course  to  the  P —  Lyceum  a  succession  of  "  stars — " 
persons  who,  with  some  worthy  exceptions,  were  more 
vulgar,  more  exaggerated,  and  more  under-bred  than  those 
"  ladies  and  gentlemen"  themselves.  This  was  at  a  time 
when  "character"  acting  was  more  especially  in  vogue. 
There  came  numbers  of  Irish,  Yankee,  Ethiopian,  nay,  even 
Dutch  "  comedians."  Generally  people  of  no  education, 
who  had  achieved  ephemeral  success  through  the  rapidly 
deteriorating  character  of  dramatic  audiences,  they  were 
presumptuous,  inflated,  and  exacting.  All  brought  num- 
bers of  trashy  plays,  wherein  their  own  parts  were  always 


292  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

conspicuous  at  the  expense  of  every  other,  and  which 
entailed  constant  and  ill-requited  study  on  the  unhappy 
"stock."  From  Elinor's  position  she  had  her  full  share 
of  these  delights,  many  of  her  rohs  being  those  of  fine 
ladies,  supposed  to  be  about  forty,  who  served  as  foils 
to  the  artless,  gushing  heroines  of  the  female  "  Star,"  who 
in  reality  exceeded  that  age.  Then  it  was  necessary  to  be 
extremely  perfect,  although  the  study  was  often  what  is 
called  "  from  night  to  night."  For  the  "  Stars,"  knowing 
well  their  own  babble  from  constant  repetition,  by  no 
means  tolerated  any  deficiency  of  the  text  from  the  beasts 
of  burden  who  supported  them. 

True,  Eadcliffe  had  been  of  great  service  to  her.  As 
we  have  seen,  he  fully  comprehended  her  anomalous 
position,  and  his  knowledge  of  the  world  and  of  the  pro- 
fession taught  him  exactly  what  Elinor  had  to  expect  in 
the  circumstances  wherein  she  was  placed.  He  warned, 
advised,  and  consoled  her.  Occasionally'  he  would  remon- 
strate with  Mugford  about  imposing  upon  her  too  much 
study.  Now  and  then  he  would  break  out  at  rehearsal 
and  insist  that  some  manifest  unfairness  toward  her  in  the 
business  of  the  scene  should  be  corrected  or  modified. 
And,  although  his  own  position  was  not  of  the  most  im- 
portant, and  his  habits  rather  weakened  his  influence  in 
the  theatre,  there  was  yet  a  dignity  in  his  bearing,  and  an 
undeniable  savor  of  breeding  and  command  in  his  manner 
which  carried  a  weight,  when  he  chose,  such  as  few  liked 
to  oppose  or  defy. 

But  in  the  frequent  intervals  of  his  absence  from  the 
Lyceum,  Elinor  was  deprived  of  even  this  support ;  and 
resolute  as  she  was  to  go  through  with  her  self-appointed 
task,  she  passed  many  miserable  hours,  which  all  the  kind- 
ness and  sympathy  of  Mrs.  Mabcrly  did  not  altogether 
redeem.  That  worthy  lady,  perhaps,  viewed  with  secret 
satisfaction  the  desagremens  which  might  tend  to  disgust 
Elinor  with  the  Stage,  for  affectionate  and  truly  attached 
to  her  niece  as  she  was,  she  certainly  did  not  try  to  color  its 
mortifications  with  roses,  or  to  paint  the  grovelling  little- 


BEFOKE  THE  STOKM.  293 

ness   of  so   many   of  its   disciples   with   an    extenuating 
pencil. 

A  knock  came  suddenly  at  the  door. 

From  Elinor's  frame  of  mind,  and  from  the  task  before 
her,  it  might  have  been  supposed  she  would  hear  the  fore- 
runner of  intrusion  with  annoyance  if  not  with  dismay. 
But  it  was  not  so.  The  sound  impressed  her  with  a  con- 
viction of  approaching  struggle.  She  laid  down  her  book, 
summoned  her  self-possession,  and  commenced  to  buckle 
on  her  mental  and  moral  armor  for  the  conflict.  The.re  was 
just  a  thought  that  she  might  be  in  error.  Just  a  thought 
that  it  might  be  a  message  from  the  manager  to  ask  her  to 
go  on  for  Miss  Simpkins's  dozen  lines  in  the  farce,  that  lady 
having  been  taken  suddenly  ill.  But  the  thought  was 
directly  dismissed.  You  smile  who  have  no  belief  in  the 
reality  of  prescience ;  wait  yet  a  little ;  for  the  coming 
generation  may  be  wiser.  It  was  the  landlady,  Mrs. 
Dawkins  : — 

"  A  gentleman.  Miss." 

"  You  told  him  I  was  very  busy,  Mrs.  Dawkins  ?" 

"  And  couldn't  be  disturbed.  He  says  it's  only  for  a 
few  moments." 

"  Some  one  from  the  Lyceum  ?" 

"  No  one  I  ever  see  before." 

"  And  sent  in  no  name  ?" 

"  He  said  there's  no  need.  Miss  :  he  must  see  you." 

Elinor  gave  a  deep  sigh.  She  knew  an  imperative 
Will  was  approaching — one  to  which  she  should  be  forced 
to  give  combat.  A  sad  but  musical  voice  spoke  in  the 
passage  : 

"  I  know  Miss  Grey  will  excuse  me,  madam.  I'll  not 
detain  her  long." 

Then  a  step  coming  up  the  stairs,  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
passing  Mrs.  Hopkins  on  the  threshold,  appeared — Cuth- 
bert  Boynton.  The  Landlady  went  out  and  closed  the 
door.     Elinor  rose  as  her  visitor  advanced  into  the  room. 

"  Is  this  fair  ?" 


29-i  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  Forgive  me — don't  be  vexed.  I  couldn't  pass  througli 
the  town  and  not  see  you — see  you  if  only  for  a  moment. 
I'll  not  distress — or  trouble  you  in  any  way.  Don't  be 
ungracious  or  unkind  to  me." 

Elinor  saw  that  he  looked  pale  and  ill,  and  she  motioned 
him  to  sit.  He  did  so  at  a  distance,  and  she  resumed  her 
chair,  waiting  for  a  few  moments  as  if  for  him  to  proceed. 
But  he  remained  quite  silent,  only  never  withdrawing  his 
eyes  from  her  face.  This  grew  embarrassing,  and  presently 
she  spoke : — 

"Have  you  been  long  in  the  North  ?" 

"  Only  a  few  days.  I  was  on  my  way  to  Boston — to 
meet  a  friend  expected  by  the  English  steamer.  I  was  not 
quite  well,  and  remained  over  on  Saturday.  In  the  even- 
ing I  strolled  into  the  theatre  here  and  saw — Miss  Ellen 
Grey." 

Elinor  flushed  a  little.  "  There  is  nothing  derogatory  in 
that." 

"Not  in  itself,  perhaps.  Tastes  and  opinions  differ.  But 
you  will  not  wonder  that  I  was  greatly  shocked.  I  knew 
you  were  absent.  Eliot  heard  so  from  Dangerfield,  but 
did  not,  if  he  knew  it,  name  the  cause  : — I  was  greatly 
shocked." 

"  And  is  it  this  that  you  have  come  to  tell  me?"  asked 
the  girl,  coldly. 

"  I  scarcely  know  why  I  came,  except  that  I  could  not 
have  remained  away.  For  heaven's  sake  do  not  be  so 
hard.     Surely  my  coming  cannot  do  you  harm," 

"  Nor  good,  I  fear,"  said  Elinor,  half  abstractedly. 

"  Why  say  that  ?  Why  say  a  thing  so  unkind  even  if 
you  think  it — feel  it  ?  Was  it  a  crime  in  me  to  love 
you?  A  sin  to  do  what  I  could  not  help  then, — cannot 
help  now  ?" 

"  This  must  cease,"  said  Elinor,  rising  abruptly. 

"It  shall,"  he  cried  eagerly,  "only  give  me  a  moment. 
I  beg — nay,  even  demand  it !" 

"  By  what  right  ?" 

"  The  right  of  a  pure,  honest  love  bestowed  by  a  full 


BEFORE   THE    STORM.  295 

heart  and  a  faithful  one  ;  rejected  by  a  bitter  and  unkind 
one ;  and  which  only  seeks  the  poor  satisfaction  to  know 
the  true  reason  of  that  rejection !" 

"  1  thought  all  was  understood  between  us,"  said  Elinor 
mournfully. 

"  This  at  least  is  not," 

"  Let  it  be,  then.     Go  on.     I  listen." 

"  Cruel,  cruel  always.  Oh !  Elinor,  Elinor  !  Is  it  for 
this  life  of  wretched  mummery,  this  pitiful  ambition,  that 
you  could  give  up  one  who  loved  you  so  dearly,  who  loves 
you  even  now  better  than  living  mortal  ever  can  ?" 

"  You  forget  yourself,  sir,"  she  said  haughtily.  "  How 
can  you  justly  criticise  my  actions,  or  call  in  question  my 
motives  ?" 

"  I  would  not  do  so.  But  how  explain?  You  declared 
your  heart  was  your  own.  You  have  quitted  an  affluent 
and  honorable  home.  You  knew  that  with  consent  of  mine 
you  could  never  do  what  you  are  doing.  I&  it  unreasona- 
ble to  draw  an  inference  which  seems  so  obvious  ?" 

"  Perhaps  not,"  she  replied,  more  calmly.  "  Perhaps 
not — for  you.  I  can  understand  how  one  bred  as  you  have 
been — surrounded  from  birth  by  such  influences  as  you 
have  been — should  find  it  difficult  to  comprehend  the  pos- 
sibility of  another  giving  up  dear  friends,  loved  home,  the 
hope  of  a  happy  future ;  not  for  a  pitiful  ambition,  as  you 
call  it,  but  for  the  simple  conviction  of  self-respect — the 
prompting  of  inflexible  duty." 

"  A  duty  to  place  yourself  in  such  a  position !  but  I  will 
not  cavil  at  terms.  You  did  not  reject  me  for  the  sake  of 
embarking  in  this  strange  career,  then  ?" 

"  I  did  not." 

"  Oh !  Ehnor !  That  at  least  is  a  consolation.  And  you 
are  still  heart-whole  ?  Do  not  answer !  I  know,  know  in 
my  inmost  soul  that  you  are.  It  is  impossible  for  a  love 
like  mine  to  be  utterly  unrequited  !  Now,  you  may  say  a 
word — one  little  word — to  prove  I  am  not  wholly  blinded 
and  deceived.  Only  a  word ;  pray,  pray,  be  candid  with 
me!" 


296  dangerfield's  eest;  or 

"  Do  you  remember  the  last  word  I  ever  spoke  to  you, 
before  you  came  here  to-day  ?" 

The  young  man's  face  fell. 

"  Alas !  too  well,"  he  murmured. 

••  You  ask  me  to  be  candid  with  you,"  she  went  on,  while 
her  face  grew  marble  white,  "  and  I  will.  The  more  per- 
haps that  1  underrated  the  strength  of  your  attachment, 
and  so  may  have  done  you  an  unwitt(ing  wrong.  And  if  I 
ask  3^ou  to  remember  that  word,  it  is  because  it  is  one  which 
should  not  be  forgotten  in  connexion  with  what  I  am  about 
to  say." 

She  paused,  as  if  to  collect  herself,  and  drew  her  hand 
across  her  brow. 

"  Go  on,"  he  said,  softly. 

"You  ask  me  to  be  candid  with  you,"  she  repeated, 
slowl}^,  "  and  I  will."  Then  rising  suddenly,  she  said, 
firmly :  "  Cuthbert  Bo3mton,  I  love  you  as  I  never  have, 
and  never  again  shall,  love  man — and  yet  I  cannot  be 
your  wife !" 

He  threw  himself  at  her  feet,  and  covered  her  hands 
with  passionate  kisses. 

"  Elinor,  Elinor,  Elinor  !  what  happiness  and  what  mise- 
ry !  You  must  not,  you  shall  not,  you  dai-e  not  say  it ! 
Look,  Elinor.  I  have  nothing  in  the  world  to  love  but 
you  ;  neither  father,  nor  mother,  nor  sister.  All  these  long 
Weary  months  I  have  thought  of  nothing  but  you.  I  can 
think  of  nothing  but  you  I  Have  you  the  right  to  crush 
the  happiness  of  a  whole  life  ?  To  impair  its  usefulness, 
to  embitter  its  memories,  to  send  it  forth  on  the  world, 
wrecked,  and  ruined,  and  alone?  Is  this  the  duty  that 
you  speak  of  ?  Think  you  it  is  a  duty  that  God,  who 
made  us,  will  smile  on  and  approve  ?  No,  no,  no  !  It  is 
impossible  that  he  should  !"  And  with  the  height  and  in- 
tensity of  his  emotion  the  strong  man  sobbed  aloud. 

Elinor  withdrew  her  hands  to  cover  her  face. 

"  Poor  Cuthbert,"  she  said  in  a  soft  and  gentle  voice, 
which  yet  trembled  as  showing  how  difficult  it  was  to  keep 
from   sharino-    in  his  audible  sorrow.      "Poor  Cuthbert! 


BEFOKE   THE  STORM.  297 

Heaven  help  me.  I  did  not  think  it  would  have  been  so 
hard  with  him." 

He  caught  her  hand  again. 

"  Ah !  you  pity  me.  You  say  '  poor  Cuthbert  ;'  you 
never  used  that  name  before,  and  your  voice  sounds  more 
human  than  it  has  to-day.  It  says  that  you  relent,  though 
its  words  may  not.  Say  that  you  do,  oh !  my  love  !  dear 
Elinor,  my  Elinor!"  And  his  arm  stole  round  her  slender 
waist.    . 

She  disengaged  herself  hastily,  and  went  to  the  other 
side  of  the  room. 

"  Cuthbert,  Cuthbert !  let  this  parting  be  friendly,  at  all 
events." 

"Parting?  I  tell  you  I  will  not  listen  to  it!  There  is 
some  obstacle,  I  know,  which  your  woman's  nature  exag- 
gerates— it  shall  be  removed.  Do  you  think  I  will  be 
stopped  by  obstacles  ?  Yon  should  know  me  better.  Some 
one's  consent  has  to  be  obtained  ?  I  will  obtain  it.  Who- 
ever it  may  be,  he  shall  consent.  Something  in  your  fami- 
ly history,  at  which  your  soul  revolts,  and  which  you 
would  fain  conceal,  and  believe  in  your  scrupulous  pride 
it  should  fetter  your  choice  ?  I  know  enough — all  of  it — 
and  there  is  nothing  which  should  part  us — nothing  which 
shall  part  us !" 

"  Yes  ;  one  thing — " 

"'One  thing  which — " 

"  "Which  will  part  us  for  ever." 

"  And  that  is—" 

"Slavery!" 

He  started  back  transfixed  with  astonishment. 

"  Good  Heavens !  Do  I  hear  aright !  Is  it  possible  thai 
you  can  be  so  mad — so  fanatical  ?" 

"You  think  me  so;  perhaps  most  would  agree  with 
you." 

"  I  should  think  so.  But  opinions  may  differ.  We 
should  not  quarrel  there.  I,  too,  think  Slavery  an  evil. 
But  it  exists.  By  going  where  it  is,  you  could  mitigate 
the  wrong,  at  least  so  far  as  your  conscience  and  means 

13* 


298  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

might  permit,  /did  not  create  the  evil.  It  was  my  mis- 
fortune, perhaps,  but  not  my  fault  to  have  been  born  where 
it  prevails.     Would  3^ou  punish  me  for  that?" 

"I  would  punish  no  one,  but  bless  all  I  can,"  she  an- 
swered solemnly.  "  I  am  no  casuist.  I  cannot  with  my 
woman's  intellect  enter  into  all  the  subtle  distinctions  of 
the  question.  But  I  can  recognise  the  broad  distinctions, 
which  are  not  subtle  at  all,  between  right  and  wrong.  I 
can  see  that  this  Right  and  Wrong  are  drawing  year  by 
year,  and  day  by  day,  to  the  point  where  comes  the  death- 
struggle  for  supremacy  of  the  one,  destruction  for  the  other. 
Shall  I,  though  the  least  of  my  country-women,  throw  my 
life,  my  love,  any  little  weight  or  influence  I  have  or  may 
possess,  into  the  scale  of  the  Wrong  ?  Not  for  life's,  not 
even  for  love's  sake." 

"  And  is  this  all?"  he  asked,  with  a  shade  of  incredulity 
in  his  tone. 

"No,  not  all.  That  is  but  a  general  view.  There  is  a 
personal  one  which  may  strike  you  more  forcibly.  It  is 
common  to  say  that  Slavery  only  harms  those,  masters  or 
serfs,  among  whom  it  exists.  There  is  much  to  be  said  of 
that ;  much  of  the  crying  disgrace  to  our  whole  nation 
abroad,  the  weakening  of  moral  obligations,  the  truckling 
to  the  slave-power  of  parties — but  these  are  public  topics  for 
men  to  discuss  and  settle.  I  have  a  private  one  which  I 
have  a  right — which  it  is  my  duty  to  consider,  as  bearing 
on  and  directing  my  private  action." 

"  I  cannot  understand  you." 

"  You  will  do  so.  It  is  but  right  you  should,  though  it 
costs  me  much  to  enlighten  you.  You  have  said  you  knew 
somewhat  of  my  family  history.  What  you  do  not  know 
I  will  tell  you,  and  briefl3^  A  man — a  treacherous  villain 
who  yet  holds  his  head  erect,  and  walks  among  honorable 
men — came,  while  I  was  almost  a  child,  into  our  family 
circle.  He  was  born,  bred,  educated  among  Slaveholders. 
He  was  steeped  in  their  habits  of  life,  their  modes  of 
thought,  their  chivalrous  notions  of  honor.  He  was  even 
said  to  have  owed  his  existence  to  one  of  the  abuses  which 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  299 

grows  out  of  their  system.  To  him  I  owe  it  that  mj  father 
went  down  to  a  drunkard's  grave.  To  him  I  owe  it  that 
my  mother  became — what  I  cannot  name.  To  him  I  owe 
it  that  I  have  been  thrust  by  force  of  those  stigmas  from 
social  position,  to  lead  a  life  which  you  evidently  think 
that  of  an  outcast.     Do  you  wonder  at  my  prejudice  ?" 

"I  think  it  overstrained.  This  man's  crime  does  not 
implicate  me — I  was  no  sharer  in  it." 

"  No — Heaven  forbid.  But  that  he  was  capable  of  such 
a  crime  was  the  direct  result  of  his  birth  and  breeding  in 
social  conditions  wherein  you  also  were  born  and  educated." 

"  And  for  his  offence  you  would  therefore  punish  me?" 

"I  would  not  choose  to  do  so;  but  I  would  not  ally 
myself  to  a  system  which  brings  forth  such  offences." 

"  Yet,  had  such  a  bitter  experience  never  befallen " 

"My  resolution  would  be  the  same.  I  told  you  this 
but  as  a  lower  and  personal  motive  which  gave  strength  to, 
but  did  not  create,  convictions  springing  from  higher  and 
broader  ones." 

"But  still,"  the  young  man  went  on,  more  steadily,  and 
for  the  moment  almost  losing  sight  of  his  passion  in  the 
contemplation  of  what  struck  him  as  so  strange  a  barrier  to 
its  gratification.  "  But  still,  how  absurd — pardon  me — 
how  quixotic,  to  strain  private  actions  into  accordance  with 
such  generalities.  Grant  there  be  a  wrong ;  what  can  an 
individual  effect  by  precept  or  example  against  a  gigantic 
system  ?" 

"  If  all  acted  on  that  principle,  when  would  the  wrong 
be  abated?" 

Cuthbert  shook  his  head  despairingly.  "  Enough  for  me 
that  I  am  to  be  one  of  its  victims.  I  will  not  affront  you 
with  further  solicitations  ;  I  will  not  suppose  your  resolu- 
tion can  be  altered;  but  if  some  great  grief  or  trouble 
should  come  upon  you — if  there  be  no  other  to  assist — ^to 
counsel — will  you — " 

"I  understand  ;  thanks;  I  will." 

"  God  bless  you,  then,  and — Farewell." 

And  a  second  time  he  was  gone. 


300  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

Elinor  was  letter  perfect  in  Virginia  that  night ;  but  it  is 
to  be  feared  that  she  thoug-ht  more  of  her  lost  love  than  of 
Icilius.  She  felt,  indeed,  as  the  great  conqueror  may  have 
felt  when  he  played  his  last  card — when  he  ordered  that 
last  sublime  charge  of  his  imperial  cohorts  on  which  hung 
the  fate  of  Europe,  and  which  sealed  his  own  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  XLL 


THERE  was  a  grand  party  at  the  Von  Donks'.  Not 
a  very  select  one,  it  must  be  acknowledged;  but 
candidates'  parties  at  election  time  seldom  are,  and  that  of 
the  Von  Donks  was  not  likely  to  be  an  exception.  There 
were,  indeed,  not  a  few  who  seldom  find  themselves  within 
the  sacred  precincts  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  save  on  such 
occasions  as  these,  when  the  majesty  of  the  people  is  about 
to  be  vindicated.  As  usual,  the  exceptional  privilege  was 
not  grudgingly  enjoyed.  Mrs.  General  was  condemned  to 
witness  in  silent  horror  her  breakfast-room  a  la  renaissance 
turned  into  a  sort  of  branch  Hook  and  Cuff's,  and  the 
conservatory  in  the  rear  metamorphosed  into  a  miniature 
City  Hall.  The  immaculate  carpets  of  the  drawing-rooms 
were  pressed  by  the  brogans  of  the  followers  of  McSwindle, 
and  the  boudoir  of  Violetta  and  Zerlina  was  invaded  by 
the  whilome  denizens  of  the  Pewter  Mug.  Something  of 
a  Celtic  aroma  flavored  the  entire  atmosphere,  and  the 
counteracting  agencies  of  verbena  and  jasmine  were  in- 
voked in  vain  against  the  subtle  yet  overwhelming  bouquet 
of  whiskey  and  onions. 

There  were  delegates  representing  many  interests  and 
many  classes : — for  although  it  was  not  in  this  district  that 
th'fe  election  was  to  come  off,  yet,  as  sometimes  happens, 
more  propitiatory  and  tributary  capital  was  to  be  worked 
up  in  the  metropolis  than  in  the  district  itself.  Thus  there 
were  divers  rising  young  traders,  junior  partners  generally, 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  301 

and  known  in  the  firm  as  "  our  Mr.  So  and  So."  The 
firm  has  a  large  connexion  with  smaller  dealers  in  the 
contested  district,  and  the  junior  partners  are  to  be  fascinated 
by  Violetta  and  Zerlina.  There  were  various  city  and 
county  officials — beetle-browed  men,  mostly,  with  red 
faces,  white  eyes,  and  moustaches  dyed  jet  black;  also 
with  that  peculiar  defiant  look  the  Milesian  physiognomy 
is  prone  to  adopt  when  its  owner  finds  himself  in  better 
company  or  better  clothes  than  he  was  formerly  accustomed 
to.  There  were  a  few  rather  objectionable  characters  (strong- 
adherents  of  the  party),  in  the  shape  of  proprietors  of  lot- 
tery offices  and  concert  saloons ;  and  there  was  a  heavy 
detachment  of  rather  dirty  people  "  connected  with  the 
press." 

There  were  also  scattered  here  and  there  a  few  profes- 
sional persons  of  more  breeding  and  culture  than  those 
already  described,  and  who  therefore  possessed  less  political 
weight  or  influence,  but  whose  presence  Mrs.  General 
manoeuvred  to  secure,  from  a  sagacious  conviction  that 
something  was  needed  to  leaven  the  otherwise  intolerable 
mass.  These  gentry  were  content  enough  with  the  Yon 
Donk  dinners  and  wines,  and  were  willing  to  patronize 
them  on  the  tacit  understanding  that  no  social  reciprocity 
was  expected  or  implied.  Furthermore,  there  was  a  stray 
Congressman  very  much  bored — an  attorney  infamous  as 
being  the  tool  of  a  well  known  city  editor,  and  now  con- 
spicuous for  being  extremely  mellow,  and  over-attentive  to 
such  young  women  as  he  could  get  to  listen  to  his  uncouth 
blandishments — Slymer  in  high  feather,  having  his  next 
passage  secured  across  the  Atlantic  as  "Bearer  of  Des- 
patches," for  about  the  twentieth  time — Sprigg  in  a  new- 
flowered  waistcoat  and  a  staring  diamond  pin  (presented 
by  La  Picaroni  for  those  stunning  "  blows"  in  the  Crier), 
— McSwindle  and  Blias  P.  who  came  arm-in-arm,  radiant 
and  mysterious  with  some  new  conspiracy — a  large  num- 
ber of  young  men  and  women,  lucky  descendants  of  people 
who  had  made  preternatural  fortunes  in  impossibly  short 
times  and  by  processes  altogether  inscrutable — and,  finally, 


302  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

Eobert  Eliot,  fresh  from  his  Southern  Tour  and  surveying 
the  motley  assemblage  with  great  interest  and  curiosity. 

General  Von  Donk  was  seated  in  a  state  of  bland  intoxi- 
cation at  the  entrance  between  the  back  drawing-room  and 
the  conservatory,  pressing  each  new  arrival  to  take  cham- 
pagne in  the  intervals  of  his  pohtical  outpourings,  and 
invariably  observing  the  courtesy  of  sharing  with  his  guest 
in  the  effervescing  inspirer.  Mrs.  General,  ablaze  with 
brocade  and  precious  stones,  was  moving  through  the 
rooms  in  stately  curves,  and  dragging  Eliot  with  her, 
apparently  for  the  purpose  of  introducing  him  to  every 
one  they  encountered ;  but  after  enduring  some  two-score 
of  these  inflictions  whose  object  he  was  quite  unable  to 
divine,  her  victim  managed  to  extricate  himself  on  pre- 
tence of  paying  his  respects  to  Miss  Von  Donk,  who  was  in 
turn  trying  to  escape  from  McSwindle.  Zerlina  snapped 
at  her  rescuer's  arm  with  avidity,  and  the  mutual  saviors 
wandered  into  the  vicinage  of  the  General. 

"  '  Taint  no  use  talkin',''  proclaimed  that  statesman, 
"  the  only  true  salvation  of  the  country  lies  in  the  Demo- 
cratic Party,  allers  assomin'  and  retainin'  the  reins  of 
power.  The  hard-fisted  Democracy, — them's  the  ones  to 
rule.     Don't  you  look  at  it  so,  Mr.  Eliot  ?" 

Eliot  was  really  very  much  disposed  to  be  candid  ;  and 
he  was  on  the  point  of  being  taken  unawares,  and  makinor 
reply  that  he  feared  those  who  spent  all  their  time  in  hard- 
ening their  fists  were  unlikely  to  do  much  toward  polish- 
ing their  brains  ;  but  he  remembered  his  surroundings  and 
took  mean  refuge  in  a  discreeter  common -place. 

"  Certainly,  sir,  the  people  are  the  basis  of  all  power  in 
a  free  country." 

''  You've  ben  a  travellin',  Mr.  Eliot,  you  hev,"  continued 
the  General,  pursuing  his  prey  with  implacable  steadiness. 
*'  I  reckon  this  here's  a  rather  taller  kind  of  a  country  than 
you  expected — you've  been  astonished  some,  hain't  you  ?" 

"  Very  much  by  the  thrift  and  content  of  the  people,  by 
the  beauty  of  the  scenery,  and  by  the  great  resources  of 
the  inner  country,"  said  Eliot,  heartily. 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  303 

"  Well,  now,  aiut  it  better  to  hev'  a  government  like 
our'n  to  bring  about  such  blessin's  than  one  like  your  rot- 
ten old  European  concerns,  grindin'  down  and  oppressin' 
of  us  ?" 

"  Why,"  replied  Eliot,  smiling,  "  the  natural  qualities 
of  your  country, — such  as  its  extent  and  productions, — 
would  be  the  same  whatever  form  of  government  might 
prevail.  Democratic  government  in  Europe  would  not 
change  its  topography — would  not  increase  the  acres  of 
arable  soil." 

"  It  mightn't  increase  'em,"  retorted  the  General  with 
great  unction  and  the  swelling  elocution  he  employed  when 
he  found  himself  on  the  eve  of  a  triumphant  point,  "  it 
mightn't  increase  'em  ;  but  it  would  make  them  that 
already  exist,  available.  Why,  sir,  I  understand  that  in 
your  country,  small  as  it  is,  you've  fifteen  million  acres 
of  tillable  land  lyin'  uncultivated  while  thousands  of  your 
poor  are  starvin !" 

''It's  true  that  abuses  exist,"  said  Eliot,  mildly,  "but 
the  one  you  speak  of  is  constantly  undergoing  modifica- 
tions. No  system  is  altogether  perfect,  and  I  for  one  don't 
pretend  that  ours  is  an  exception.  Even  your  own,  with 
all  its  advantages,  has  drawbacks.  There  is  much  of  our 
soil  uncultivated  which  might  produce  bread  ;  but  that 
which  is  tilled,  remember,  is  tilled  exclusively  by  freemen." 

"The  niggers  is  much  better  off  as  they  are,"  said  the 
General  dogmatically,  "  they'd  all  be  barbarous  heathen, 
clubbin'  and  eatin'  each  other,  if  we  didn't  hev'  'em  here 
for  slaves,  and  if  we  sot  'em  free,  they'd  relapse  into  bar- 
barism and  never  do  any  work  at  all.  They'd  turn  out 
like  them  darkies  o'  yourn  in  Jamaky." 

Zerlina  at  this  juncture  had  taste  enough  to  shorten 
the  discussion  by  asking  Eliot  to  go  with  her  to  the 
library  to  see  a  picture  or  something  of  the  kind,  so 
that  the  General  was  left  in  undisputed  possession  of 
the  field. 

"  I  thought  your  papa  was  quite  safe  to  win  this  elec- 
tion," Eliot  remarked  as  he  passed  up  the  grand  staircase. 


304  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  So  he  is,"  answered  Zerlina — "  at  least  everybody  says 
so.  But  he's  anxious  to  have  a  very  large  majority — what 
Mr.  Staggers  calls  an  '  ovation,'  and  that's  what  they're  all 
working  for  now." 

As  they  reached  the  landing,  the  band  below  struck  up 
a  waltz,  which  stimulated  Zerlina's  desire  to  finish  the  task 
she  had  undertaken  and  return  to  the  drawing-rooms  ;  but 
when  they  got  to  the  door  of  the  library — an  apartment  in 
the  rear  of  the  mansion,  projecting  over  the  conservatory 
— an  impediment  awaited  her. 

"La  !"  she  cried,  "the  wind  has  put  out  the  gas.  I'll 
find  a  servant,  Mr.  Eliot,  and  return  directly." 

Eliot  would  fain  have  jDOstponed  the  suggested  inspec- 
tion, and  remonstrated  against  Miss  Von  Donk's  giving 
herself  trouble  ;  but  she  tripped  away,  leaving  him  to 
grope  into  the  library,  and  to  find  a  seat  on  the  opposiie 
side  from  the  door,  between  a  window  and  a  large  book- 
case. Presently  a  servant  came  in,  and  relighted  one  of 
the  jets  of  the  chandelier,  but  Zerlina  appeared  to  have 
been  detained  by  something — probably  the  making  of  en- 
gagements for  ensuing  dances.  As  the  attendant  left  the 
room,  the  music  ceased,  and  Eliot  was  conscious  of  voices 
on  the  balcony,  close  beside  him. 

"  Your  month  has  nearly  passed,"  said  the  peevish  voice 
of  Gossamer  Von  Donk,  "  and  we've  heard  nothing  of  the 
breaking  off  of  the  marriage  ;  I  think  you  must  have 
deceived  yourself  about  its  being  so  certain." 

"  I  never  deceive  myself,"  responded  a  deep  voice,  which 
Eliot  instantly  remembered  to  have  heard  before.  "  A 
thing  may  be  practically  accomplished  without  your  direct- 
ly hearing  of  it." 

"  Ah !  yes ;  but  I  want  to  know.  Business  is  business. 
I  can't  count  on  things  I  don't  absolutely  know.  Elias  P. 
said  'twould  surely  be  as  3^ou  promised." 

"  And  so  it  will  be.  Listen  :  whatever  cause  there  may 
have  been  for  delay,  it  will  cease  at  any  time  I,  myself, 
choose  to  appear  on  the  scene  of  action." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you'd  choose  to  appear  soon  then.     The 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  305 

truth  is,  I  can't  bear  to  wait  for  anything.     It  may  be  a 
fault,  but  I  never  have,  and  I  never  can." 

"  You  shan't  have  longer  cause  for  complaint.  I  start 
for  The  Eest  to-morrow,  and  you  will  soon  have  good 
news." 

"  All  right.  I  can  arrange  money  matters  whenever 
you're  ready.  The  old  man's  been  realizing  heavily  for 
election  purposes,  and  I  can  get  what  I  like."  * 

"  I  may  require  it  at  very  brief  notice." 

"  Oh!  a  day  will  answer;  Elias  P.  '11  fix  that." 

Whatever  compunction  Eliot  may  have  had  in  listening 
to  this  colloquy,  it  would  certainly  have  been  rather  diffi- 
cult to  avoid  it.  The  first  and  most  interesting  portion 
had  been  rapidly  spoken,  and  the  noise  of  the  band  having 
ceased,  he  saw  that  he  could  not  rise  to  leave  the  room 
without  attracting  the  notice  of  the  speakers.  Just  as  he 
determined  on  the  propriety  of  taking  that  step,  he  was 
spared  further  consideration  by  the  return  of  Zerlina. 

"  So  sorry  to  keep  you  waiting,  Mr.  Eliot,  but  pa  would 
introduce  me  to  that  horrid  Mr.  Selvage  of  Dimity,  Drill- 
ing &  Co.,  you  know,  importers  of  drygoods — wholesale, 
of  course." 

Eliot  rose  instantly,  as  the  young  lady  entered,  and  had 
placed  her  arm  in  his  almost  before  she  spoke.  As  he 
expected,  there  was  an  immediate  reconnoissance  from  the 
balcony ;  but  Gossamer,  seeing  his  sister  and  the  English- 
man together,  readily  believed  they  had  entered  the  room 
in  the  same  juxtaposition  the  instant  before.  He  there- 
fore, with  a  civil  good  evening,  returned  to  his  companion, 
leaving  Eliot  to  admire  the  "  Claude  "  pointed  out  by  Miss 
Yon  Donk,  and  which,  as  she  truly  remarked,  ivas  a  very  • 
remarkable  production. 

"  Who's  that  ?"  whispered  Kirkwood,  as  Gossamer  re- 
sumed the  chair  by  his  side. 

"That  Englishman,  Eliot;  he's  intimate  at  Uplands — 
crossed  the  Atlantic  with  '.em,"  said  Gossamer,  rather  unea- 
sily. 

"  Do  you  think  he  heard  ?" 


306  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  I  think  not.     But  if  he  did—" 

"  'Twould  be  of  no  possible  consequence.  We  deal  in 
certainties,  not  in  uncertainties." 

Nevertheless,  what  he  had  heard  was  sufficient  to  induce 
Eliot  to  determine  to  alter  his  previous  plans,  and  to  set 
out  for  Uplands  on  the  following  morning. 

"  And  what  d'ye  think  of  the  chances  ?"  asked  Sprigg 
of  Mr.  Staggers,  as  they  sat  side  by  side  at  supper,  in  zea- 
lous encounter  with  champagne  and  boned  turkey.  "  What 
d'ye  think  of  the  chances  ?" 

"  Fust  rate.  The  General's  popular,  he  is.  The  people 
understand  him.  That's  the  point.  He  goes  right  in 
among  'em — takes  his  cocktail  and  sling  with  'em,  and  paj^s 
for  their'n,"  quoth  Elias  P.,  conscious  that  short  sentences 
are  most  favorable  to  rapid  mastication. 

"Begorra,  that's  it,"  endorsed  McSwiudle,  tossing  off  a 
bumper  of  sparkling  Moselle.  "  It's  the  thrue  dimmichra- 
tic  principle  to  mingle  and  convarse,  and  take  your  whishkey 
wid  the  people.  Then  they  know  you're  not  stuck  up  like, 
and  don't  purtend  to  be  better  than  they  are  thimselves." 

"  That's  so,"  said  Elias  P.  "  Our  folks  don't  want  no  high- 
falutin  idees  in  their  representatives,  'bout  knowing  things 
them  that  puts  'em  in  power  don't  know ;  and  if  they  keep 
shut  up  in  their  houses,  and  don't  mix  with  the  voters, 
how  kin  the  voters  know  they're  of  the  right  stamp  ?" 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Sprigg.  "  For  men  who  are  the  ser- 
vants of  the  people  ought  to  try  and  please  the  people,  and 
do  their  work  in  the  way  which  suits  the  people.  Look  at 
our  success  !  The  Press  is  the  servant  of  the  people,  and 
we  write  to  please  the  people  ;  suppose  we  wrote  to  suit 
such  as  are  called  the  cultivated  and  the  polished,  how 
many  copies  of  the  paper  d'ye  think  we'd  sell  ?" 

Mr.  Slymer  here  expressed  the  conviction  that  no  such 
absurd  contingency  was  at  all  likely  to  occur  in  the  history 
of  the  Crier. 

"  I  should  say  not,"  said  Sprigg,  complacently.  "  Our 
proud  position  is  based  on  the  popular  appreciation  of 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  307 

sound  business  principles.  "We  aim  to  please  the  greatest 
number  who  buy  the  paper,  as  the  General  here  aims  to 
please  the  greatest  number  who  vote  for  Congressman." 

"  There  aint  no  press,"  said  Elias  P.  solemnly,  "  which 
so  truly  elucidates  the  principles  of  our  glorious  Constitu- 
tion. It  goes  for  the  greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number 
— 'specially  of  our  foreign-born  fellow-citizens  ; — and  ain't 
that  right?  Of  course  it  is.  Why?  'Cause  it  ain't  no 
merit  to  be  born  on  the  soil — you  couldn't  help  yourself — 
but  our  foreign-born  fellow-citizens  come  here  from  abroad 
of  their  own  accord,  so  showin'  their  higher  appreciation  of 
our  liberal  institutions !" 

"  Hooray !"  shouted  McSwindle,  enthusiastically,  and 
swallowing  another  brimmer  of  Moselle. 

"  Thus,"  continued  Elias  P.  oratorically  waving  a  turkey 
bone ;  "  thus,  we  see  the  surpassin'  merits  of  our  Univer- 
sal Suffrage.  The  poor,  the  ignorant,  and  the  oppressed 
from  all  quarters  of  the  globe  kin  come  here  and  vote 
to-morrow  without  troublin'  themselves  about  all  them 
hair-splittin'  distinctions  which  despots  invents  to  blind 
and  oppress  'em  to  home.  They  kin  vote  for  the  Con- 
stitution and  the  law,  and  they  kin  tax  property  to  keep 
their  own  representatives  well  paid  for  guardin'  their  inter- 
ests in  the  country." 

"  And  to  kape  down  the  nagur,"  supplied  McSwindle. 
"  And  to  keep  the  nigger  in  the  place  which  natur  and 
his  gifts  obviously  intended  him  for,"  amended  Elias  P. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  General  at  the  court  end  of  the  table 
was  apologizing  to  Eliot  for  the  rath»r  miscellaneous  cha- 
racter of  the  assemblage.  "  You  see  we  have  to  do  what 
all  people  are  forced  to,"  she  remarked,  "  where  a  country 
is  blessed  with  a  free  government.  All  the  citizens  have 
votes,  and  the  lower  orders  must  be  conciliated  as  well  as 
the  higher  ones.  You  have  the  same  thing  in  England,  I 
take  it?" 

"  Why,  to  tell  the  truth,  not  precisely.  I  fear  our  House 
of  Commons  would  be  something  different  from  what  it  is 
if  the  suffrage  were  absolutely  universal.     We  have  a  pro 


308  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

perty  qualification  fixed  at  as  lowr  a  point  as  wc  think  con- 
sistent with  dignity  and  safety.  Our  theory  is  that  the 
country  will  be  most  wisely  governed  if  the  rulers  are 
chosen  by  those  who  have  a  positive  and  direct  interest  in 
its  welfare." 

"  Ah,  but  your  common  people  are  so  ground  down  by 
long  centuries  of  oppression,  that  you'd  be  afraid  to  trust 
them  with  political  power." 

"We  don't  think  it  would  be  judicious,"  replied  Eliot 
courteously,  not  caring  to  discuss  the  ethics  of  the  question. 

"  How  is  your  friend  Mr.  Boynton?"  chirupped  Violetta 
Yon  Donk  opportunely  as  Eliot  looked  around  for  relief 

"  Thank  you,  well  in  health  when  I  last  saw  him.  He 
has  gone  South  again." 

"  We  heard  he  was  desperately  smitten  with  that  Elinor 
Grazebrook." 

-'Indeed?" 

'•  Yes.  Only  think  of  that  wicked  girl  having  gone  on 
the  Stage !" 

"  Gone  on  the  Stage !"  echoed  Eliot  with  surprise. 

"  True.     She's  gone  and  turned  play -actress  !" 

"  Play-actress !  Oh  my !"  chorussed  half-a-dozen  young 
ladies  in  a  diapason  of  horror. 

"  Not  from  choice  surely  ?" 

"  Oh  yes — she  ran  away  from  home,  and  came  out  just 
for  pure  love  of  the  thing.  It's  a  comfort  to  think  she 
failed,  though." 

"  Nonsense,  Elinor,"  said  Mrs.  General  reprovingly. 
"  Do  be  a  little  charitable.  She  lost  her  fortune  some- 
how, Mr.  Eliot,  and  being  a  proud  girl,  thought  she  could 
support  herself  by  acting." 

"Say  what  you  like,  mother,"  retorted  Violetta  in  her 
pertinacious  squeal,  "  but  no  one  in  society  ever  thought 
she'd  come  to  a  good  end." 

"  May  I  ask  why.  Miss  Van  Donk  ?"  asked  Eliot  gravely. 

"  Oh,"  she  answered  simpering,  "I  couldn't  exactly  tell 
you — but  every  one  knows  her  father  and  mother  were  not 
reputable,  you  know." 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  309 

"But  I  thought  that,  in  this  country  at  least,  people 
were  valued  or  respected  for  themselves — not  honored  for 
the  merits  of  their  predecessors  or  depreciated  for  their 
failings."' 

"  Oh  yes — that  is,  as  a  general  rule  perhaps — but  of 
course  not  in  society,  you  know." 

"  I  see.  Then  in  this  respect,  at  least,  you  have  no 
advantage  over  the  decrepid  old  countries  of  Europe." 

"I  fancy,"  laughed  Slymer,  "I  fancy,  Mr. Eliot,  that  social 
observances  in  these  matters  are  the  same  the  world  over." 

"I'm  by  no  means  sure  of  that,"  answered  the  English- 
man. "  It  may  be  prejudice,  but  I  imagine  more  sympathy 
and  consideration  would  be  extended  in  Europe  to  a  per- 
son really  meritorious  and  accomplished  who  has  suffered 
such  misfortunes,  than  what  I  now  hear  would  lead  one  to 
expect  in  America," 

"He's  a  reg'lar  prejudiced  Britisher,  he  is,"  said  Elias  P. 
soito  voce  to  Slymer.  "  You'd  orter  've  heard  the  General 
put  him  down  a  little  while  ago." 

The  conversation  and  festivity  presently  merged  into 
a  melange  of  politics,  wine,  and  flirtation,  and  Eliot  took 
his  leave  in  the  middle  of  a  stump  speech  indulged  in  by 
the  General,  wherein  the  favorite  dogmas  of  his  persuasion 
were  enforced  in  a  manner  which,  to  the  stranger  at  least, 
was  more  emphatic  than  conclusive.  But  it  must  be 
acknowledged  that  Eliot's  brain  was  busied  with  consider- 
ing his  discoveries  of  the  evening,  and  in  striving  to  trace 
to  a  common  cause  the  mischances  present  and  to  come 
which  had  befallen  and  which  threatened  the  friends  in 
whom  he  felt  so  warmly  interested.  Still,  in  what  he 
heard  and  saw  that  night  the  young  Englishman  found 
food  afterward  for  serious  reflection. 

The  levelling  tendency  is  the  noxious  sequent  of  a  gene- 
rous principle,  which  comes  after  democracy  as  pedantry 
follows  scholarship,  or  as  avarice  succeeds  prudence.  Its 
aim  is  the  opposite  of  that  of  its  predecessor,  for  the  one 
would  lift  up  all  to  the  highest  plane,  the  other  would  drag 


810  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

down  all  to  the  lowest.  This  is  the  fatal  excess,  feared  and 
deprecated  by  the  Fathers,  fanned  and  stimulated  by  dema 
gogues,  predicted  and  rejoiced  in  by  kings.  It  has  grown 
upon  America  year  by  year,  lowering  her  standards,  sapping 
her  strength,  vulgarizing  her  society.  It  has  grown,  not 
so  much  through  inherent  force,  as  through  the  tacit  acqui- 
escence of  the  people,  who  believe  that  a  tyranny  of  few 
over  many  is  less  just  than  a  tyranny  of  many  over  few. 
The  intention  has  been  good,  but  the  mistake  has  consisted 
in  the  assumption  that  to  eschew  the  former  evil  implied 
the  acceptance  of  the  latter. 

The  effects  of  this  tendency  are  so  degrading  and  so 
manifest,  that  to-day,  when  the  true  Spirit  of  Progress  is 
becoming  alive  to  their  existence,  and  clamorous  for  their 
correction,  one  marvels  that  they  should  have  run  riot  so 
long.  The  one  of  their  number  which  is  most  conspicu- 
ously injurious, — the  evil  to  which  we  should,  perhaps, 
assign  the  credit  of  pre-eminence  in  mischief, — is  what  may 
be  termed  The  Worship  of  Mediocrity. 

It  is  truly  a  singular  state  of  society  in  which  it  becomes 
prudent  to  avoid  the  reputation  of  uncommon  wisdom  or 
uncommon  virtue, — in  which  the  statesman  who  assiduously 
cultivates  his  intellect,  must  pay  the  penalty  of  subsequent 
obscurity — in  which  it  is  almost  a  legitimate  inference  that 
he  who  would  rise  in  life,  must  systematically  belittle  his 
understanding ; — but  has  not  sach  a  condition  of  things 
existed  among  us  ? 

Have  we  not  ostracized  superior  ability  as  the  Athenians 
did  Aristides  ?  Americans  every  day  complain  of  the 
paucity  of  instances  of  acknowledged  genius  and  brilliant 
capacity  among  their  public  men.  To  such  we  would  say 
— children  of  Washington,  of  Jefferson,  of  Hamilton,  have 
you  made  Presidents  of  your  Websters  and  Cla3's  ?  If  not, 
cease  to  murmur  that  no  more  Websters  and  Clays  appear 
among  you. 

If  some  enterprising  person  were  to  advertise  a  machine 
for  stunting  intellectual  development  after  the  manner  of 
the  hideous  barbarians  who  flatten  the  skulls  of  their  chil- 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  311 

drerr,  it  would  excite  a  great  deal  of  astonishment, — and 
yet  such  an  engine  would  be  as  labor-saving  as  many  other 
inventions  whose  advertisement  excites  no  -astonishment 
at  all. 

The  tyranny  of  the  many  over  the  few  is  NOT  more  just 
than  that  of  the  few  over  the  many.  On  the  contrary, 
there  is  a  lowering  poison  in  the  former  system  which  may 
ultimately  do  more  harm  than  the  latter.  No  masses  of 
people  can  participate  in  wrong,  and  escape  personal  degra- 
dation because  they  act  in  large  bodies.  The  soul  of  the 
slaveholder  is  clouded  and  soiled  by  the  "  Institution"  if 
his  slaves  are  ever  so  happy.  The  American  character  is 
clouded  and  soiled  to-day  by  the  huge  wrong  of  which  it 
has  been  guilty  in  worshipping  mediocrity,  and  in  permit- 
ting a  senseless  and  uncouth  jealousy  to  do  injustice  to 
merit. 

It  must  be  obvious  now,  to  thousands  who  a  few  years  ago 
would  have  refused  to  listen  to  such  a  proposition,  that  the 
evil  in  question  is  the  legitimate  product  of  placing  political 
power  in  the  hands  of  the  ignorant  and  the  unthinking.  It 
follows  that  the  evil  would  increase  and  has  increased  pre- 
cisely in  proportion  to  the  increase  of  the  classes  indicated ; 
— and  that  it  will  continue  so  to  increase  until  a  remedy  be 
applied.  Moreover,  the  longer  that  remedy  is  delayed,  the 
more  difficult  will  become  its  application :  for  the  ignorant 
and  unthinking  are  not  in  the  least  degree  more  willing  to 
relinquish  their  hold  on  a  power  they  have  once  wielded, 
than  kings  and  nobles  are.  A  mob  is  not  more  ready  to 
abdicate  than  a  dynasty. 

"We  hear  it  advanced  in  the  way  of  explanation,  that 
there  exists  in  the  popular  mind  a  vague  apprehension  that 
shining  talents  are  dangerous  when  intrusted  with  execu- 
tive power.  This  is  an  apology  which  ignorance  does  not 
deserve.  It  is  unfounded  in  fact.  Able  men  have  been 
kept  out  of  high  places  from  no  such  apprehension,  but  for 
the  simple  reason  that  they  were  hated  for  their  superi- 
ority. The  ignorant  man  likes  to  see  his  brother  ignorant 
man  in  the  high  places,  and  granting  him  the  power,  he  is 


312  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

safe  to  put  him  there.  It  meets  his  views  of  the  fitness 
of  things,  and  pampers  his  egotism  by  enlarging  the  field 
ol  his  own  possible  achievement. 

It  is  asked,  where  is  the  remedy  ?  Can  we  be  sure  that 
it  will  not  be  worse  than  the  disease  ?  Alas  !  the  disorder 
which  takes  years  to  culminate  cannot  be  cured  in  a  day. 
But  it  is  something  that  the  intelligent  and  patriotic  are  at 
last  alive  to  its  presence.  It  is  something  that  the  number 
is  daily  on  the  increase  who  dare  say,  and  say  with  a  loud 
voice,  this  gross  "Wrong,  this  despicable  Corruption,  is  a 
living,  growing  fact,  and  must  be  met,  battled  with,  and, 
by  God's  blessing,  overcome. 

We  say  dare^  and  say  it  advisedly ;  for  not  long  gone  it 
was  not  so.  The  popular  idea  of  Free  Speech  obtained 
then — obtains  too  much  now.  The  popular  idea  of  Free 
Speech  is  that  of  saying  nothing  which  can  offend  the 
lightest  prejudice  or  taste  of  the  lowest  grade  of  your  hear- 
ers, and  being  as  offensive  and  disgusting  as  you  please,  or 
can  be,  to  those  of  the  highest.  To  infringe  this  was  to  be 
persecuted  and  trampled  upon  by  the  lowest  grade,  always 
heavily  in  the  majority  ;  and  to  receive  no  manner  of  pro- 
tection or  encouragement  from  the  highest  grade,  because 
it  never  troubled  itself  with  such  matters. 

We  have  reached  an  Epoch  which  promises  better  things, 
albeit  the  battle  may  be  long  and  arduous.  An  Epoch 
wherein  the  genuine  lover  of  Freedom  and  of  Eight  may 
protest  against  the  wrongs  of  the  many  against  the  few,  as 
well  as  against  those  of  the  few  against  the  many.  An 
Epoch  when  people  cease  to  be  satisfied  with  the  mere 
names  of  Liberty,  Equality,  and  Fraternity,  and  begin  ana- 
lysing, testing,  demonstrating,  to  discover  how  much  they 
possess  and  how  much  they  lack  of  the  real  substances. 
The  Worship  of  Mediocrity  is  not  likely  to  increase,  as  the 
result  of  these  investigations — these  great  strides  forward 
and  upward. 

Perhaps  if  Oliver  Vernon  ran  for  Congress  against  Gene- 
ral Yon  Donk  in  1870,  he  might  stand  a  better  chance  of 
being  elected. 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  313 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE  next  day  Eliot  arrived  at  Uplands,  and  Kirkwood 
returned  to  The  Eest.  The  former  lost  no  time  after 
his  arrival  in  seeking  an  interview  with  Stephen  Danger- 
held,  and  relating  what  he  had  accidentally  overheard  of 
the  design  apparently  cherished  by  Kirkwood.  "  Depend 
upon  it,"  he  concluded,  "  that  man  means  mischief  if  he 
can  effect  it.  The  longer  I  live,  the  greater  is  my  confi- 
dence in  physiognomical  signs,  and  I'm  quite  certain  that 
my  first  estimate  of  lago  was  a  correct  one." 

Stephen  sighed.  He  saw  plainly  that  the  reasons,  what- 
ever they  might  be,  which  induced  his  father  to  declare  his 
union  with  Grace  to  be  impossible  were  known  to  Kirk- 
■wood — were  probably  part  and  parcel  of  the  mysterious 
secret  between  them.  He  hesitated  a  little,  and  then,  as 
young  men  who  trust  each  other's  honor  are  prone  to  do, 
he  made  a  clean  breast  to  Eliot  of  all  he  knew  or  had 
learned  from  his  father,  both  as  regards  this  and  other  mat- 
ters, since  their  arrival  in  the  Assyria.  He  added  an  ac- 
count of  his  earlier  recollections  of  Kirkwood,  and  the 
-strong  aversion  with  which  that  person  had  inspired  him. 
Eliot  listened  gravely,  and  at  the  end  did  not  affect  to  con- 
ceal his  concern. 

"  If  your  father  alone  had  expressed  himself  thus,"  he 
said,  "  it  might  be  less  serious.  As  you  suggest,  his  mind 
may  be  weakened,  or  he  may  exaggerate  the  obstacle,  which 
may  by  no  means  prove  insuperable.  But  Kirkwood,  also, 
evidently  regards  the  matter  as  quite  a  foregone  conclusion. 
In  any  case,  if  you  permit  me  to  advise,  I  should  recom- 
mend that  you  make  a  full  and  immediate  statement  of 
the  affair  to  Mr.  Vernon,  In  the  multitude  of  counsellors 
there  is,  or  should  be,  wisdom  ;  and,  moreover,  pardon  me 
if  I  say,  that  your  duty  also  indicates  such  a  course." 

Stephen  acknowledged  the  propriety  of  this,  and  ex- 
plained his  motives  for  previous  reticence.  It  was  finally 
agreed  that,  as  the  enemy  had  made  his  appearance  on  the 

14 


?l-4  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

ground,  he  should  at  once  impart  his  story  to  Yernon  as  a 
preliminary  to  any  future  operations.  Clearly  Mr.  Yernon 
would  have  a  right  to  complain  if  the  fact  of  Martin  Dan- 
gerfield's opposition  to  the  match  were  to  reach  him  through 
any  other  lips  than  those  of  Stephen.  In  the  afternoon, 
therefore,  the  anxious  lover  took  an  opportunity  of  seeking 
Yernon  in  his  library,  and  of  stating  without  reserve  the 
circumstances  which  weighed  so  heavily  upon  his  heart. 
The  kind  old  man  was  both  surprised  and  puzzled  by  the 
narration,  yet  his  words  to  Stephen  were  full  of  comfort. 

"  I  can  conceive,"  he  said,  "  of  no  objections  which  your 
father  can  entertain,  unless  indeed  there  may  be  such  as 
are  suggested  by  pride  in  connexion  with  the  impaired  con- 
dition of  his  fortune.  The  Dangerfields  have  ever  been  a 
proud  and  sensitive  race.  lie  may  perhaps  entertain  a 
morbid  dislike  to  acknowledging  the  state  of  his  affairs, 
and  may  cherish  a  conviction  that  such  an  acknowledgment 
would  entail  an  objection  from  myself  to  sanction  your 
union  with  Grace.  Should  he  know  what  I  now  authorize 
you  to  use  your  judgment  in  telling  him — that  such  a  con- 
sideration would  have  no  weight  whatever  on  my  part — 
his  views  may  be  modified.  I  have  no  wish  in  the  pre- 
mises, save  to  assure  my  child's  happiness.  She  is  my  only 
one,  and,  in  being  my  heiress,  will  be  beyond  the  necessity 
of  wei2;hino:  mere  worldlv  concerns  in  her  choice.  As  to 
any  machinations  of  Kirkwood,  leave  them  to  me.  What- 
ever may  be  his  unfortunate  power  with  your  father,  it 
cannot  avail  with  me;  and,  indeed,  I  think  I  can  manage 
to  thwart  any  evil  design  he  may  be  concocting,  let  it  be 
levelled  at  whom  it  may." 

And  Stephen  retired  with  renewed  hope  and  courage, 
and  feeling  strong,  as  he  had  a  right  to  feel,  in  the  support 
of  so  powerful  an  ally. 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  315 


CHAPTEE  XLin. 

ELIlSrOR  was  not  the  Elinor  she  had  been.  The  current 
of  her  life  ran  on  in  its  old  irksome  channel,  but  the 
perspective  no  longer  included  the  faerj  vista  of  hope,  nor 
were  the  banks  bright  and  blooming  as  of  old  with  the 
flowers  of  promise.  Yet  William  Radcliffe  was  wrong 
when  he  charged  her  dejection  to  the  account  of  her  failure 
in  the  great  city,  and  Mrs.  Maberly  was  wrong  when  she 
attributed  it  to  late  hours  and  repeated  fatigues.  These,  in 
truth,  were  but  the  surface  griefs  which  rather  alleviated 
than  aggravated  the  deeper  sorrow  below.  She  could  have 
borne  them  bravely  enough,  and,  as  it  was,  she  never  mur- 
mured. But  her  face  grew  paler  and  older,  and  her  smile, 
though  always  patient,  was  very  sad. 

Elinor  had  not  really  known  the  depths  of  her  own 
heart — had  not  known  the  strength  of  the  passion  that  was 
lurking  there — until  she  had  for  the  second  time  rejected 
Cuthbert  Boynton.  Men  are  slow  to  credit  how  such 
feelings  can  dwell  in  women's  breasts,  dormant  to  their 
own  as  to  every  other  perception,  and  yet  be  ineradicable. 
Each  man  in  his  own  case  is  accustomed  to  scan,  to  analyse, 
to  dissect  every  feeling — every  passing  emotion.  He  learns 
its  weight,  its  value — he  measures  its  permanence,  its 
evanescence.  His  masculine  nature  does  not  shrink  from 
the  task,  however  inquisitorial.  Not  so  the  woman.  Her 
more  subtle  and  sensitive  nature,  though  keener  in  all  its 
perceptives,  hesitates  far  longer  in  the  trying  process  of 
self-examination.  Because  consequences  in  her  case  are 
more  momentous,  she  oftentimes  instinctively  covers  up 
instead  of  laying  bare  the  causes  which  are  to  bring  them 
forth.  Thus  it  is  that  women  are  often  positively  surprised 
themselves  when  some  unforeseen  catastrophe  unlocks  the 
inmost  secrets  of  their  souls,  and  thus  will  ruder  and 
coarser-minded  men  call  that  hypocrisy  and  dissimulation 
which  is,  indeed,  unconsciousness  or  the  instinct  of  self- 
protection.     So  it  had  been  with  Elinor  when  the  "depths  hid 


316  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

been  stirred  to  the  inmost  by  the  explanation  she  had  been 
forced  to  enter  upon.  Before  that,  she  could  live  on,- 
absorbed  in  her  chosen  pursuit — absorbed  in  the  discharge 
of  what  she  believed  to  be  her  duty — and  suffer  little  but 
what  was  included  in  the  rough  and  ungenial  attrition  of 
her  daily  life — but  not  so  now.  A  part  of  herself  was 
gone  out  of  her  keeping,  and  no  effort  of  resolution,  no 
invocation  of  the  waters  of  oblivion  could  make  her  for- 
get or  call  it  back  again. 

Eadcliffe  and  Mrs.  Maberly  were  not  the  persons  to 
delve  into  another's  secrets  uninvited,  and  least  of  all  into 
those  of  such  a  nature  as  Elinor's ;  but  they  watched  her 
growing  sadness  with  affectionate  solicitude,  and  strove  in 
their  different  ways  to  temper  and  assuage  it.  As  to  the 
man,  his  own  nature  was  changing  and  growing  every  day. 
He  had  commenced  to  catch  glimpses  of  that  clysium  which 
is  possible  on  earth  to  all  of  us — for  the  first  time  in  his 
worn  and  battered  life;  and  he  yearned  to  do  good  to 
some  one — to  bring  happiness  to  some  one — during  the 
brief  remainder  that  was  left  to  him.  He  did  more  than 
yearn — he  did  more  than  hope — for  William  Eadcliffe  had 
been  taught  thus  late  what  he  had  never  practised  in  youth, 
and  nightly  prayed  that  this  sweet  power  might  yet  be 
vouchsafed  to  him. 

And  the  poor  actor  struggled  on,  bearing  up  more  man- 
fully than  he  had  ever  done  under  the  toils  and  privations 
of  his  lot — struggling  day  by  day  to  make  people  happier 
in  little  things  wlio  came  within  his  humble  orbit — and 
gaining  consolation  for  himself  as  time  wore  on,  because  he 
saw  in  the  future,  clearer  and  clearer — as  God  sent  that 
events  should  fall  out — that  the  aspirations  and  prayers  of 
his  tardy  repentance  should  not  be  altogether  in  vain. 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  317 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

KIRKWOOD  resumed  his  old  life  of  easy  indulgence, 
which  after  the  dangers  and  vicissitudes  of  earlier  days, 
he  had  found  so  very  agreeable  at  Dangerfield's  Rest.  The 
man  was  absolutely  incorrigible  in  his  habit  of  enjoying 
the  present.  Even  now  when  the  most  critical  moments 
in  the  development  of  his  schemes  appeared  to  be  immi- 
nent, he  lost  no  particle  of  the  zest  wherewith  he  appre- 
ciated the  wines,  the  made  dishes,  the  cigars  and  the  siestas, 
the  enjoyment  of  which  had  made  up  the  sum  of  his 
existence  in  the  most  placid  ones.  Yet,  notwithstanding 
his  immense  physique,  his  iron  nerves  and  his  opaque 
materialism,  Kirkwood  was  possessed  by  certain  presenti- 
ments which  were  powerful  enough  to  control  his  future 
action  when  he  came  seriously  to  consider  of  it.  A  con- 
viction was  daily  gaining  strength  in  his  mind,  that  his 
tenure  both  of  power  and  of  safety  in  his  present  dwelling- 
place  was  drawing  to  a  close.  It  has  been  seen  that  he  was 
shaping  his  personal  transactions  with  a  view  to  sudden 
departure  at  no  great  distance  of  time  ;  and  that  his  main 
object  was  to  take  with  him  as  heavy  a  security  against 
future  privation  as  possible;  but,  mingled  with  this  pur- 
pose, and  scarcely  inferior  to  it  in  the  importance  with 
which  his  malignant  nature  invested  it,  was  his  design 
of  inflicting  an  overwhelming  vengeance  upon  Stephen 
Dangerfield.  The  undisguised  contempt  wherewith  Stephen 
had  treated  him  naturally  influenced  a  resentment  which 
was  not  likely  to  be  readily  appeased ;  but  the  personal 
insult  received  at  his  hands  was,  to  a  man  of  Kirkwood's 
stamp,  not  to  be  atoned  save  through  a  retaliation  equally 
ineffaceable. 

He  had  hoped,  as  we  have  seen,  by  working  upon  the 
pride  and  the  terror  of  Martin  Dangerfield,  hopelessly 
to  encumber  the  estate  his  son  had  a  right  to  receive  intact. 
Failing  this — and  repeated  failures  had  led  him  to  the 
reluctant  conclusion  that  on  this  point  the  old.  man  was 


318  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

inflexible — he  could  at  least  undermine  Stephen's  hap- 
piness by  destroying  his  prospects  of  union  with  Grace 
Vernon.  To  this  end  he  had  sought  and  found  an  instru- 
ment in  the  infatuation  of  Gossamer  Von  Donk.  At  the 
last  moment,  and  when  Stephen  beheld  his  cup  of  joy  at 
his  very  lips,  it  should  be  dashed  to  the  earth,  while  Kirk- 
wood  having  plundered  his  rival  to  the  utmost  possible 
extent,  would  suddenly  vanish,  leaving  the  other  actors  of 
the  complicated  scene  to  arrange  matters  as  best  they 
might.  It  will  be  observed  that  so  craftily  had  the 
conspirator  managed  his  intrigues  with  the  various  parties 
involved,  that  each  would  have  a  motive  for  concealing  his 
own  part  in  the  drama  until  concealment  was  no  longer 
possible. 

Meanwhile,  Stephen,  who  had  formerly  resolved  not  to 
remain  under  the  same  roof  with  his  pertinacious  opponent, 
found  a  reason  to  forego  that  resolution  in  the  late  intima- 
tion of  his  projects,  which  had  been  discovered  by  Eliot. 
It  would  not  answer  to  abandon  the  field  just  when  the 
combat  promised  to  begin.  He  must  stand  firm,  watch  the 
enemy  carefully,  and  be  prepared  to  resist  whenever  that 
enemy  seemed  on  the  point  to  strike. 

As  usual  with  him,  Kirkwood  affected  towards  Stephen 
a  manner  of  half-patronizing  affability ;  and,  as  usual,  was 
met  by  the  latter  with  haughty  distance.  Yet,  it  must  be 
admitted  that  the  younger  man  grew  more  apprehensive 
fi'om  day  to  day  of  the  potency  of  the  force  which  the  other 
might  be  able  to  bring  against  him.  Had  Kirkwood  in- 
dulged in  threats,  had  his  manner  even  betokened  hostility, 
Stephen  would  have  known  how  to  meet  either  the  one  or 
the  other.  Neither,  however,  was  apparent,  but  in  their 
place  was  exhibited  a  bland,  self-assured  confidence,  which 
was  far  more  threatening  and  dangerous.  There  was  not  a 
trace  of  doubt  or  insecurity — nothing  but  the  easy  air  of  a 
player  who  knows  he  holds  the  winning  cards,  and  only 
bides  his  time  to  play  them.  Such  was  the  account  carried 
by  Stephen  to  his  allies  at  Uplands,  who,  however,  agreed 
that  it  suggested  nothing  further  than  increased  vigilance, 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  319 

and  the  adherence  to  his  general  policy,  which  was  to  watch 
and  wait. 

Kirkwood,  aware  of  the  character  of  Stephen's  explana- 
tion with  his, father,  was  simply  observing  what  effect  it 
might  produce  upon  his  relations  with  the  family  at  Up- 
lands ;  and  when  he  saw  that  the  young  man's  visits  were 
continued  there  as  before,  and  that  the  common  report  of 
the  neighborhood  brought  no  tidings  of  a  rupture  of  the 
well  known  engagement,  he  determined  that  his  personal 
interposition  had  become  necessary.  He  was  the  more  im- 
pelled to  this  by  impatient  letters,  which  became  frequent 
from  Gossamer  Yon  Donk,  and  from  his  conviction  that 
little  more  could  be  extorted  from  Martin  Dangerfield,  who 
now  seemed  to  be  sinking  into  a  state  of  lethargy.  Once 
or  twice,  too,  he  encountered  the  lovers,  who  pursued  their 
favorite  habit  of  taking  long  rides  among  the  hills,  and  his 
animosity  was  kindled  afresh  by  witnessing  such  evidences 
of  mutual  confidence  and  unabated  affection. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said  to  Martin  Dangerfield  one 
evening,  "  do  you  know  that  the  engagement  still  remains 
unbroken  between  your  son  and  Yernon's  daughter  ?" 

"  Stephen  knows  it  cannot  be,"  replied  the  old  man,  fee- 
bly.    "  I  told  him  it  could  not  be." 

"  Then  he  thinks  you  in  your  dotage,  or  sets  you  at  defi- 
ance, for  he  pursues  his  course  despite  of  you." 

"  He  takes  a  little  time  to  break  the  matter,  perhaps. 
Poor  boy,  he  is  very  fond  of  her." 

"  But  hang  it,  man,  don't  you  see  the  fools  are  on  the 
brink  of  a  precipice — the  next  thing  will  be  a  sudden  mar- 
riage— what  shall  you  do  then  ?" 

"  It  must  not  be  ;  it  must  be  prevented." 
.    "Ay!  but  how?     Your  son  is  not  a  child;  what  pre- 
vents if  the  girl  and  her  father  agree  ?" 

"  He  cannoV 

"  Obviously  he  does — otherwise  Stephen  would  not  be 
received  at  the  house.  Look  you,  Yernon  must  be  led  to 
believe  that  your  estate  is  impaired — that  you  are  ruined, 
in  short — then,  and  then  only,  he  will  break  off  the  match." 


320  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  He  divined  that  to  be  the  cause  of  my  opposition ; 
Stephen  told  me  as  much." 

"  And  he  still  consents  ?" 

"  He  still  consents." 

"  Well,"  continued  Kirkwood  impatiently,  "what  do  you 
mean  to  do  7" 

"  1  had  hoped  to  make  Stephen  withdraw." 

"  But  you  see  he  does  not — will  not.  Things  are  going 
to  the  last  extremity.  What  then  ?  Do  you  propose  to 
tell—" 

"  No,"  said  Dangerlield  with  a  shudder ;  "  I  can't  do 
that." 

"  Some  one  must — shall  I  ?" 

"  Never !  would  you  be  so  base,  so  dastardly  ?  Eemem- 
ber  you  have  promised — sworn!  You  are  a  villain,  Kirk- 
wood ;  but  you're  not — you  cannot  be — so  black  as  that  I" 

"  Perhaps,  then,  you'll  be  kind  enough  to  show  me  the 
alternative?" 

"  I'll  think — think  and  determine,''  said  the  old  man, 
wearily.  "  To-morrow — in  a  few  days,  at  the  furthest. 
For  God's  sake,  now,  leave  me  in  peace." 

Kirkwood  withdrew  grumbling,  yet  not  really  dissatis- 
fied with  the  conversation.  He  had  discovered  exactly  how 
the  land  lay.  He  had  discovered,  too,  that  there  was  no 
more  time  to  lose. 

"  It  is  clear,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  lighted  his 
last  cigar  before  retiring  for  the  night,  "  it  is  clear  that  this 
placer  is  tolerably  well  drained.  It  is  also  clear  that,  to 
wind  up  affairs,  the  shortest  and  easiest  course  is  the  best." 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  821 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

(( CIO  yoi\  like  the  country,"  asked  Oliver  Vernon  of  his 

O  English  visitor,  as  they  sat  at  breakfast  one  breezy 
summer's  morning. 

"  Better  than  from  all  accounts  I  expected  to  like  it. — 
Tbe  tourists  are  almost  uniformly  unjust,  but  more  fre- 
quently unreasonable.  It  appears  to  me  that  most  of  the 
ill  blood  which  exists  between  England  and  America  arises 
from  the  persistent  refusal  of  writers  to  see  or  to  under- 
stand that  different  social  and  physical  conditions  produce 
different  characters  and  manners  without  either  merit  or  de- 
merit of  the  people  thus  passively  acted  upon." 

"  You  would  infer,  no  doubt,  that  a  given  number  of 
Englishmen  transferred  to-day  to  an  entirely  new  country 
would  become,  in  the  same  time,  very  much  what  Ameri- 
cans have  become — achieve  very  much  what  Americans 
have  achieved  ?" 

"  Precisely.  There  would  be  the  same  literature,  the 
same  religion,  the  same  laws,  all  enjoyed  by  the  same  race, 
but  subjected  to  other  than  home  influences  and  conditions. 
I  regard  the  changes  that  would  be  effected  tis  inevitable, 
and  scarcely  the  proper  subjects  for  either  censure  or  praise. 
But  our  stay-at-home  countrymen,  compact,*  insular,  and 
prej  udiced,  insist  on  the  latter  view  and  ignore  the  former ; 
while  the  returned  emigrant  or  his  descendants  invariably 
condemn  most  harshly  those  things  which  are  equally 
inevitable  at  home." 

"  So  that,  after  all,  we  come  back  to  the  universal  panaceas 
— education  and  toleration.  I  quite  agree  with  your  the- 
ory, and  find  it  illustrated  with  even  less  than  a  century's 
alienation,  and  without  the  bitterness  engendered  by  forci- 
ble separation.  Most  Englishmen  dislike  Canadians  and 
Australians  in  the  same  way,  and  for  the  same  cause :  and 
most  of  the  colonists  unhappily  return  the  compliment." 

"You  must  write  a  book,  Mr.  Eliot,"  laughed  Grace,  "and 
set  your  naughty  countrymen  right.     But  I  think  you  gen- 

14* 


322  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

tleraen  leave  one  important  item  out  of  the  account,  which 
is  that  so  many  of  the  immigrants — who  come  in  such 
myriads  in  this  age  of  steam — consider  themselves  to  have 
been  badly  treated  at  home,  and  persuade  the  old  settlers, 
— whom  time  and  prosperity  would  lead  to  ignore  such 
grounds  for  animosity, — to  share  in  their  own," 

"  That,  of  course,  has  its  weight,"  remarked  Vernon, 
*'  and  the  more  with  ourselves  that  so  many  of  the  new 
comers  emigrate  from  a  land  which  has  had  genuine  cause 
of  complaint." 

"  I  must,  however,  omit  Slavery  in  my  category  of  tole- 
ration," pursued  Eliot,  "  for  however  originated,  and  how- 
ever lucrative,  I  cannot  believe  but  that,  with  the  educa- 
tion of  your  masses,  Englishmen  would  ere  this  have 
abandoned,  or  at  least  ameliorated  its  worst  features." 

"  A  just  prejudice,"  said  Vernon,  with  a  sigh.  "  Yet,  our 
truculent  cotton  lords  assure  us  that,  in  the  event  of  the 
rupture  they  sometimes  threaten.  Great  Britain  would  be 
found  on  their  side  in  the  struggle." 

"  I  can  never  believe  my  country  would  be  so  base," 
cried  Eliot,  warmly.  "  Some  there  are,  of  course,  whose 
trading  propensity  would  stoop  to  anything  to  make  a 
profit  or  to  damage  a  rival  ;  but  the  nation  at  large, 
never  !" 

"  Let  us  hope  there  may  be  no  opportunity  for  the 
test." 

"  Amen,  with  all  my  heart.  Sooner  or  later  the  system 
must  go  down ;  yet  I  fear  the  longer  the  delay,  the  more 
difficult  will  be  the  remedy,  and  the  more  tremendous  the 
catastrophe." 

"  Apropos,"  said  Grace,  "  what  did  you  think  of  the 
plantation  of  your  friend  Mr.  Boynton  ?" 

"  That  it  contrasted  most  favorabl}^  with  many  others. 
Yet,  it  is  true,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  that  the  average 
condition  of  the  blacks,  in  a  physical  sense,  is  better  than 
is  commonly  supposed.  It  was  very  painful,  however, 
to  see  a  man  of  his  fine  mind  and  generous  nature  helping 
to  uphold,  and  sharing  in  the  benefits  of,  human  bondage." 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  323 

"  You  had  much  discussion  on  the  subject  ?" 

"A  great  deal — of  course  between  ourselves.  Free 
speech,  you  know,  is  scarcely  safe  down  there,  especially 
if  indulged  in  by  a  '  prejudiced  Britisher.'  " 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Grace,  "  that  I  do  not  believe 
Cuthbert  Boynton  will  die  a  slaveholder?" 

"  I  trust  a  great  many  now  living  may  not,"  said  Eliot, 
smiling  ;  "but  why  in  his  case?" 

"  Oh !  you  know  a  woman  has  the  privilege  of  guessing 
— more  especially  a  Yankee  woman — and  I  have  a  presenti- 
ment that  he'll  not." 

Eliot  shook  his  head. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  think  that  the  arguments  of  others 
would  impress  him  more  than  my  own.  He  does  not  be- 
lieve Slavery  to  be  a  good,  but  he  is  convinced  that  it 
must  now  be  regarded  as  an  absolutely  necessary  evil." 

"  People  change  their  opinions  ;  he  may  not  always 
regard  it  as  necessary  to  Am." 

"  He  could  certainly  live  without  it.  He  has  some  pro- 
perty in  stocks  and  real  estate,  I  believe,  not  dependent  on 
Slavery." 

"  "Well,  when  papa  and  I  get  hold  of  him  again,  we  mean 
to  convert  him." 

"  A  formidable  alliance,  truly  ;  and  I  sincerely  wish  it 
success." 

The  conversation  naturally  turned  upon  Elinor,  her  trials 
and  misfortunes,  and  the  train  of  events  which  had  led  to 
the  adoption  of  her  present  profession.  *  Eliot  was  per- 
suaded that  there  had  been  foul  play,  and  that  there  was  a 
mystery  to  be  solved  which  would  not  only  result  in  the 
recovery  of  her  little  patrimony,  but  also  in  clearing  up 
the  cloud  which  had  so  long  hovered  over  the  household  &t 
Dangerfield's  Eest.  Grace — warm-hearted  girl — avowed 
that  she  would  long  ago  have  followed  Elinor,  and  forced 
her  return  home,  but  for  the  restraining  prudence  of  her 
father.  The  latter  had  been  in  correspondence  with  Mrs. 
Maberly,  and  agreed  with  her  that  it  was  wiser  to  permit 
the  disease  to  run  its  course. 


324  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"I  never  intended,"  said  Vernon,  "to  allow  Elinor  to 
lose  her  little  fortune;  but  she  is  so  sensitive  and  higli- 
strung  'twill  be  a  very  delicate  matter  to  arrange." 

Here  Stephen  Dangerfield  bounded  into  the  room,  in  a 
style  which  quite  set  decorum  at  defiance,  and  with  his  old 
joyous  expression  lighting  up  his  handsome  face. 

"  Ilave  you  seen  the  Orier  this  morning?"  he  demanded, 
addressing  the  assemblage  collectively. 

"  Gracious !  No,  Stephen,"  replied  Grace,  "  we  never  see 
it.     But  why  ?" 

"See  that!"  exclaimed  the  intruder,  handing  the  paper 
to  Yernon,  alid  pointing  out  a  paragraph. 

"Can  it  be  possible?"  cried  Vernon  in  astonishment,  as 
his  eye  ran  over  the  lines  ;   "  why,  Eliot,  look  there !" 

"  What  is  it,  pray  ?"  demanded  Grace,  "  how  tiresome 
you  all  are  !     Do  read  it  aloud,  Mr.  Eliot." 

"  Surely,  Miss  Vernon,"  said  that  gentleman,  "  surely 
you  must  be  a  witch  !  Listen  and  judge."  And  he  read 
aloud  as  follows  : — 

"supposed  case  of  insanity. 
"  Cuthbert  Boynton,  Esq.,  a  well  known  and  hitherto 

highly  respectable  planter  of county,  Alabama,  has 

just  issued  papers  of  Emancipation  to  all  the  slaves  of  his 
estates.  The  unhappy  gentleman  is  believed  to  have  been 
rendered  crazy  through  the  arts  and  machinations  of  the 
infernal  Abolitionists,  as  he  had  lately  returned  from  a 
visit  to  the  North,"  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

Here  followed  a  withering  denunciation  of  Northern 
Fanatics,  who  were  represented  as  being  engaged  in  a  wide- 
spread conspiracy  to  break  up  social  order  at  the  South, 
and  the  article  wound  up  by  demanding  the  arrest  and 
punishment  of  the  editor  of  a  rival  newspaper,  who  was 
declared  to  have  personally  brought  about  by  some  myste- 
rious means  the  last  and  crowning  atrocity  which  had  been 
described. 

A  general  exclamation  of  delight  followed  this  perora- 
tion, ^vhich  Eliot  delivered  in  a  highly  declamatory  style. 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  325 

"  Oil !  how  happy  this  makes  me !"  murmured  Grace, 
with  her  blue  eyes  quite  filling  with  tears. 

"Boynton's  a  regular  trump,  after  all,"  cried  Stephen, 
all  forgetful  of  his  own  cares  in  admiration  of  the  heroism 
of  his  friend. 

"  Truly  surprising,"  said  Eliot.  "  I  can  scarcely  believe 
my  eyes — what  a  noble  action  !" 

"  What  a  triumph  of  Principle !"  cried  Oliver  Vernon, 
wiping  his  spectacles,  and  preparing  to  read  the  article  over 
again. 

"  Nay,  papa,"  said  Grace  softly,  and  kissing  his  noble 
brow ;  "  what  a  triumph  of  Love  /" 


CHAPTER   XLYI. 


ON  the  following  morning  the  gentlemen  of  the  party 
set  forth  for  a  ten-mile  drive  to  the  neighboring  town 
of  Cranberry  Centre.  General  Yon  Donk  was  stumping 
the  county,  and  was  to  speak  at  that  place  to-day,  on  the 
condition  of  the  country  in  general  and  on  that  of  his  Con- 
gressional prospects  in  particular.  Yernon  had  yielded  to 
the  solicitations  of  a  local  committee  of  his  party  and  would 
also  "  express  his  sentiments"  in  behalf  of  the  opposite 
side. 

"  You'll  hear  a  good  deal  of  '  buncombe,'  as  we  call  it," 
he  said,  laughingly,  to  Eliot,  "  and  it  won't  be  all  on  one 
side  either. — The  truth  is,  our  people  have  run  into  such 
inveterate  habits  of  hyperbole  that  to  speak  to  them  plainly 
without  metaphor  or  exaggeration  is  to  run  great  risk  of 
being  voted  a  bore.  Their  palates  are  too  sophisticated  with 
stimulants  to  fancy  simple  cookery.  However,  there  is 
really  improvement  in  this  as  in  many  peculiarities  for- 
merly rather  sharply  emphasised.  It  would  be  hard  to 
find  many  Jefferson  Bricks  or  Goliah  Gongs  nowadays  ; — 
at  any  rate  east  of  the  Alleghanies." 


326  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

Eliot  thought  of  these  remarks  later  in  the  day  and  after 
hearing  the  observations  of  General  Von  Donk  ;  and  it 
must  be  confessed  he  marvelled  very  much  what  the  state 
of  affairs  could  have  been  in  such  matters  before  the  days 
of  improvement  set  in. 

When  our  friends  drove  into  Cranberry  Centre,  the  little 
town  was  overrunning  with  strangers,  heated,  fussy,  and 
tumultuous.  There  were  banners  and  drums  and  fifes,  and 
stars  and  stripes,  and  clouds  of  dust  and  crowds  of  dele- 
gates, messengers  and  bo3^s  tumbling  over  each  other  in 
mad  haste  and  confusion.  The  long  sheds  by  the  Churches* 
and  "meeting-houses"  were  packed  full  of  vehicles  of  every 
conceivable  shape  and  hue ;  and  all  the  taverns  and  bar- 
rooms were  besieged  by  impatient  crowds  who  kept  surg- 
ing back  and  forth,  alternating  between  their  attractions 
and  those  of  the  halls  where  the  "speaking"  was  pro- 
gressing. 

As  Vernon's  carriage  drew  up  before  the  door  of  the 
principal  hotel,  its  occupants  could  test  for  themselves  that 
the  Von  Donk  party  were  hard  at  work  in  Acropolis  Hall, 
opposite  ;  for  a  voice  was  heard  through  the  long,  open  win- 
dows of  that  edifice,  strained  to  the  utmost  pitch  of  vocife- 
ration, but  which  the  party  had  no  difiiculty  in  recognising 
as  that  of  the  doughty  General  himself  It  was  now  past 
twelve,  and  Vernon  was  to  speak  at  one  o'clock  at  The 
Parthenon. 

Amid  the  roars  and  screams  which  continually  interrupt- 
ed and  rewarded  the  impatient  orator  hard  by,  Vernon  was 
recognised  and  taken  possession  of  by  the  attendant  commit- 
tee of  his  own  following,  and  the  two  younger  men  strolled 
across  to  Acropolis  Hall.  The  room  was  stiflingly  hot, 
densely  crowded,  and  not  altogether  inoffensive  in  other 
respects,  but  the  new  comers  managed  to  get  near  a  window 
where  they  breathed  in  comparative  comfort.  Nature  had 
forced  General  Von  Donk  to  moderate  the  energ}'^  of  his 
declamation,  and  he  was  just  getting  to  that  point  where 
orators  of  his  stamp,  finding  their  voices  begin  to  fail,  affect 
to  be  contrastedly   impressive.       He  was   supported    on 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.    .  827 

either  hand  by  sympathizing  admirers,  conspicuous  among 
whom  were  Mr.  McSwiudle  and  Elias  P.  Staggers.     After 
the  entrance  of  Stephen  and  Eliot,  the  scene  proceeded 
somewhat  as  follows  : — 
The  General,  solemnly. 

"  The  right  of  suffrage  which  you  will  soon  be  called 
upon  to  exercise  is  the  proudest  privilege  of  freemen.  It 
enables  you  to  place  in  the  national  councils — not  rich  men 
because  they  have  so  many  houses  and  lands,  not  college- 
bred  men  because  they  have  so  much  unnecessary  learning 
— ^but  men  after  your  own  hearts — men  from  among  your- 
selves, men  of  the  hard-fisted  democracy,  who  are  sure  to 
see  that  your  interests  don't  suffer,  for  the  good  reason 
that  your  interests  are  identical  with  their  own. 

"Now,  as  to  the  great  points  at  issoo  in  this  coming 
election,  some  of  you  think  a  great  deal,  and  some  not  so 
much,  and  some  of  our  adopted  feller-citizens  may  not 
have  had  time  to  think  at  all.  And  this  reflection  leads  to 
the  thought — and  my  heart  swells  with  pride  as  I  utter  it — 
that  the  principles  of  our  great  party  are  universal  and 
elastic  enough  to  cover  and  meet  the  requirements  of  each 
of  these  classes — petticularly  the  latter.  It  ain't  necessary 
for  the  working-  man  on  his  coming  among  us,  to  puzzle 
his  brains  and  waste  his  time  in  hair-splitting  distinctions  ; 
all  he's  got  to  do  is  to  vote  the  demercratic  ticket  to  be  sure 
he's  on  the  right  side. 

"  I'll  tell  you  why.  Because  voting  for  the  demercratic 
ticket  is  voting  for  high  wages  and  cheap  food,  and  for 
upholding  the  Constitution  and  the  Laws.  Because  it's 
voting  on  the  side  which  supports  the  Sovereignties  of  the 
States,  and  protects  the  rights  of  our  Southern  feller- 
citizens  in  their  slaves,  against  the  encroachments  of  the 
fanatical  Abolitionists  who  are  the  worst  enemies  of  the 
working  man.  For  if  the  Abolitionists  could  have  their 
way,  it's  easy  to  see  the  blacks  would  swarm  into  the  North 
like  locusts,  bringing  down  the  price  of  labor  and  forcing 
up  the  price  of  food  until  things  got  as  bad  as  they  are  in 


828  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

the  rotten  old  eountries  of  Europe  where  the  laborer  is  ten 
times  wLiss  off  than  the  Southern  Slaves. 

"Feller  citizens,,  the  independent  Sovereignties  of  the 
States  and  the  institootion  of  Slavery  are  inseparably  con- 
ected — and  the  demercratic  party  taking  its  stand  firmly  on 
the  Constitution,  is  for  defending  in  their  integrity  the 
Sovereignties  and  the  institootions  which  the  Constitution 
provides  are  to  remain  unimpaired." 

A  Voice. — "  Neither  the  word  'Sovereignty'  nor  'Slavery' 
are  mentioned  in  the  Constitution  at  all."* 

The  General. — "  Ah,  it  is  objected  that  two  particular 
words  do  not  happen  to  be  used  to  express  a  meaning 
which  was  no  less  clearly  intended.  The  democracy  doesn't 
stoop  to  chop  logic,  or  to  enter  into  them  hair-splitting  dis- 
tinctions I  was  speaking  of.  It  goes  by  the  spirit  and  not 
the  letter.  The  poor  man  would  fare  badly  indeed  if  he 
had  to  abide  by  the  strained  and  crooked  constructions  of 
radicals  and  sophists.  {Cheers.)  The  gentleman  is  prober- 
ly  a  Black  Eepublican — {Hisses)  or  a  nigger-worshipper 
—{Roars  of  execration)  in  ftivor,  no  doubt,  of  amalgama- 
tion, and  setting  up  the  black  man  over  the  white  !  (  Yells 
of  "Put  him  out,"  "  Lind  him  a  wipe  in  the  shkull," 
"Shtomp  on  the  baste,"  etc.,  amid  which  the  offender  pru- 
dently withdraws.) 

Elias  P. — {With  great  enthusiasm.)  "Three  cheers  for 
General  Von  Donk !" 

{Three  tremendous  cheers.,  followed  by  an  indescribable  sound 
lohich  Eliot  is  informed  by  a  bystander  is  a  '■'■  tiger.'''') 

The  General — {after  bowing  his  appreciation.)  "  Feller, 
citizens,  it  is  your  duty  and  mine,  both  by  day  and*  by 

*  *  •  *  "  In  that  Constitution  the  word  'Slavery,'  or  'Slave,'  is 
not  to  be  found.  There  are,  indeed,  the  words  '  persons  bound  to  labor,' 
but  it  is  not  said  how  bound.  And  a  constitutional  lawyer  or  judge  con 
struing  the  American  Constitution  with  a  reference  to  the  Declaration  of 
Independence  which  is  its  basis,  would  not  hesitate  to  decide  that  '  bound  to 
labor'  ought,  in  a  court  of  justice,  to  mean  'bound  by  contract  to  labor;' 
and  should  not  be  held  to  imply  'forced  or  compelled  to  labor,'  in  the 
absence  of  all  contract,  and  for  the  exclusive  benefit  of  others." — Daniel 
O'CONNELL,  Oct.  11,  1843. 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  329 

night  in  all  times  and  in  all  places  to  crush  out  the  Aboli- 
tionists !  Like  the  fabled  Upas  they  blacken  and  destroy 
all  who  come  within  their  pernicious  influence.  As  that 
eminent  and  high-toned  gentleman,  my  friend  the  Editor  of 
the  Crier  says,  they  are,  to  a  man,  robbers  and  cut-throats, 
and  are,  moreover,  in  league  with  the  devil;  and  who 
is  better  able  to  judge  of  such  qualities  and  associations 
than  he?  Nothing  is  more  easy  to  see  than  that  those 
who  would  commence  by  robbing  our  Southern  brethren 
of  their  rights  and  privileges,  would,  if  they  had  the 
power,  end  by  despoiling  ourselves  in  the  same  manner. 
The  learned  and  witty  orator  who  preceded  me — the  silver- 
tongued  O'Blarney — he  who  told  you  that 

"  Tou  may  break,  you  may  ruin  the  vase  if  you  will, 
But  the  scent  of  the  roses  wOl  cling  round  it  still" — 

and  that 

"Man  the  hermit  sighed — till  woman  smiled," 

among  other  equally  felicitous  and  apposite  reasons  for 
voting  the  demercratic  ticket — has  directed  your  attention 
to  the  great  fact  that  the  Bible  clearly  announces  and 
endorses  the  servitude  of  the  inferior  to  the  superior  race, 
and  are  not  you,  my  noble  and  enlightened  fellow-citizens, 
clearly  superior  to  the  sooty  Ethiopian  ?  {Assenting  mur- 
murs of  "That's  so,"  and  "Aint  we  thin?")  Yes,  my 
friends,  it  is  your  proud  destiny  to  be  the  master  race  of 
this  continent,  and  is  it  not  then  your  manifest  duty  to  put 
down  and  crush  the  radicals  and  atheists  who  are  not  only 
your  enemies,  but  who,  by  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence, 
prove  themselves  the  enemies  of  your  religion  ? 

"  Thus  you  have  every  motive  of  patriotism,  dooty, 
interest  and  religion  to  strain  every  nerve  to  put  down  the 
pestilent  faction  which  is  opposed  to  each  and  all.  In 
your  hands  rests  the  future  of  this  great  country — the 
greatest,  the  freeest,  and  most  magnificent  which  has 
existed  since  the  beginning  of  time.  On  you  devolves  the 
splendid  task  of  governing  and  controlling,  through  your 
representatives,  this  youthful  giant  whom  your  enlighten- 


830  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

ment  and  the  purity  of  your  principles  so  admirably 
qualify  you  to  direct  and  to  rule  !  And  when  he  lays  his 
potent  grasp  on  the  shores  of  either  ocean — when  he 
stretches  his  colossal  extremities  to  compass  either  pole — 
when  the  proud  bird  which  is  his  emblem  screams  with 
appreciative  joy  at  this  tremendous  evidence  of  his  expan- 
sive capacities — then  will  it  be  your  glory  and  your  pride 
that  through  your  own  wisdom  and  virtue  these  wonderful 
results  have  been  achieved  !" 

{Roars  of  a'pplause^  shouts  of  "  Hurrah  yer  soul "  and 
"Kape  down  the  naygur,"  aiid  much  congratulation  of  the 
General^  interrupted  hy  the  striking  up  of  the  hand^  to  whose 
inspiring  strains  Robert  Eliot  and  Stephen  Dangerjield  heat  a 
retreat.) 

As  they  reached  the  street,  they  found  another  crowd 
pouring  in  a  direction  Stephen  knew  to  be  that  of  the  Par- 
thenon, the  building  wherein  Yernon  was  to  address  his 
political  friends  and  adherents.  Now,  although  such  a 
distinction  may  appear  to  be  invidious,  it  is  certainly  true 
that  the  audience  the  two  friends  found  assembled  in  the 
Parthenon  was  less  objectionable  in  various  respects  than 
that  they  had  left  behind  at  the  Acropolis.  That  it  was 
superior,  necessarily,  in  a  moral  point  of  view,  wo  will  not 
venture  to  affirm ;  but  that  the  Parthenon  soared  above  the 
Acropolis  in  respect  of  cleanliness  and  relative  innocence 
of  the  odor  of  strong  drink,  may  confidently  be  put  upon 
record.  It  is  only  candid  to  add  that,  so  far  as  numbers 
are  concerned,  the  advantage  of  the  latter  assemblage  was 
equally  incontestable.  Vernon  had  commenced  his  address 
when  Stephen  and  Eliot  entered  the  hall.  After  passing 
over  various  matters  of  local  interests  wherein  the  two  par- 
ties were  at  issue,  the  speaker  went  on  to  say : — 

"  My  friends,  we  affirm  that  men  are  nothing,  and  that 
principles  are  everything.  It  makes  very  little  diffisrence 
whether  I  as  an  individual  am  elected  to  represent  you  in 
this  district.  But  it  makes  a  very  great  difference  whether 
the  principles  of  which  I  am  the  mere  temporary  mouth- 


BEFORE   THE  STORM.  331 

piece,  or  exponent,  are  disseminated  and  discussed  among 
you  with  the  view  to  their  subsequent  demonstration  and 
final  acceptance.  You  may  ask  why  attempt  to  dissemi- 
nate or  discuss  principles  which,  whatever  their  merits,  are 
not  agreeable  to  the  majority  of  the  district.  I  answer 
that  only  by  this  discussion  and  this  dissemination  can 
those  merits  be  properly  weighed,  understood,  and  appreci- 
ated. The  process  is  a  part  of  education,  and  the  further 
it  goes  the  more  will  the  people  become  educated.  Some 
of  you  doubt  this.  You  do  not  credit  that  the  mere  adver- 
tising of  certain  political  principles  constitutes  any  definite 
portion  of  enlightenment.  Think  a  little.  Is  it  not  noto- 
rious that  the  hold  of  the  leaders  of  the  opposite  party  is 
strong  in  exact  proportion  to  the  ignorance  or  the  immoral- 
ity of  their  supporters  ?  When  immigrants  come  here  from 
foreign  parts,  where  there  are  no  free  schools — no  means 
for  popular  education — are  not  those  leaders  justly  confi- 
dent that  in  those  new-comers  they  will  secure  exactly  so 
many  fresh  voters  ?  "When  immigrants  hail  from  those 
parts  of  Europe  which  are  blessed  with  some  approxima- 
tion to  our  own  educational  system,  are  not  those  leaders 
equally  certain  that,  in  a  parallel  ratio,  they  are  to  meet 
just  so  many  fresh  opponents  ?  In  those  parts  of  our  great 
metropolis  where  dissoluteness,  ignorance,  crime,  most 
abound,  do  not  those  leaders  find  their  greatest  power, 
achieve  their  heaviest  majorities?  In  those  parts  of  our 
State  where  morality,  culture,  order,  most  prevail,  do  not 
those  leaders  find  their  greatest  weakness,  suffer  their  most 
disastrous  defeats?  Tell  me  what  this  means  if  it  does  not 
mean — with  those  notable  and  reasonable  exceptions  from 
which  no  great  issue  is  free — that  one  party  is  identified 
with  education  and  enlightenment,  and  the  other  with  igno- 
rance and  darkness  ? 

"My  friends,  every  man  of  you  has  high  responsibilities 
as  husband,  or  son,  or  father  ;  but  a  nation  has  higher 
duties  than  even  the  collective  domestic  ones  of  its  chil- 
dren ;  and  this  nation  has,  before  Heaven,  loftier  obligations 
than  any  on  which  the  sun  has  ever  shone.     Why  ?     Be- 


332  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

cause  those  obligations  are  compreliensive  and  cosmopolitan 
to  an  extent  which  has  hitherto  been  unprecedented  in 
history.  The  obligations  of  other  nations  have  been  compa- 
ratively circumscribed  and  isolated  in  their  character;  refer- 
ring almost  exclusively  to  the  welfare  of  their  own  citizens 
or  subjects.  But  yours  are  larger  and  grander,  because 
they  involve  the  welfare  present  and  future  of  the  whole 
world.  Not  only  on  account  of  the  fractions  of  other  peo- 
ples you  yearly  absorb  into  your  own  body  politic,  but 
because  of  the  moral  effect  of  your  course  upon  the  pro- 
gress and  happiness  of  the  fractions  which  remain  behind. 
This  is  the  great  reason  why,  whereas  other  nations  have 
shaped  their  policy — more  or  less  justifiably — in  accord- 
ance with  the  dictates  of  mere  selfish  expediency,  you  are 
called  upon  to  mould  your  own  in  accordance  with  those 
of  absolute  justice  and  unqualified  Right. 

"  America  is  strong  enough  to  do  right.  It  is  not  only 
the  price  which  she  is  commanded  to  pay  for  her  present 
greatness,  but  it  is  the  absolute  condition  of  her  future  ex- 
istence. Depend  upon  it,  this  is  the  paramount  difference 
between  political  parties,  which  have  arisen,  or  which  may 
hereafter  arise  in  our  country.  By  whatever  names  they 
may  be  known,  by  whatever  minor  differences  they  may 
be  obscured  or  distinguished,  the  main  issue  will  be  be- 
tween the  advocates  of  Right  on  the  one  hand,  and  of 
Expediency  on  the  other.  The  Right  will  be  eternal,  self- 
asserting,  and  self-protecting,  and  therefore  consistent  with 
the  national  perpetuity.  The  Expediency  will  be  tempo- 
rary, short-sighted,  and  short-lived,  and  therefore  tend  to,  or 
be  in  sympathy  with,  national  disintegration.  The  latter  will 
denounce  the  former  as  Utopian,  because  there  are  no  his- 
torical precedents  to  show  tliat  a  nation  can  do  right  and 
live;  but  the  former  will  reply  that  conditions  exist  which 
never  existed  before,  and  that  the  time  has  arrived  when 
the  Golden  Rule  may  be  expanded  from  its  application  to 
the  conduct  of  a  man,  so  as  to  extend  in  its  noble  scope  to 
the  conduct  of  a  People. 

"  '  Whatsoever  ye  would  that  men  should  do  unto  you, 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  333 

do  ye  also  unto  them.'  Behold  the  plain  maxim  as  appli- 
cable to  politics  as  to  the  moralities  of  daily  life.  Dema- 
gogues may  strive  to  delude  and  to  confuse ;  they  may 
insist  on  this  reading  of  the  Constitution,  or  upon  that 
principle  of  commercial  economy  ;  but  the  simplest  and 
least  penetrating  intellect,  earnest  for  truth  and  ever  apply- 
ing that  maxim,  need  neither  be  bewildered  nor  deceived. 
That  simple  phrase  is  the  true  genius — the  vitalizing  spirit 
of  our  national  existence.  It  is  incompatible  with  the 
oppression  of  any  race  of  men,  whatever  may  be  their  lan- 
guage or  their  color.  America  cannot  permanently  remain 
an  asylum  for  some  and  a  prison  for  others.  If  she  has 
been  so  prostituted,  or  ever  is  so  prostituted,  the  Avenger 
may  come  slowly,  but  he  will  surely  come  at  last.  If,  as 
the  heritage  of  less  enlightened  days — as  a  consequence  of 
action  taken  before  our  own  time  (and  "for  which,  the  present 
generation  is  not  therefore  directly  culpable),  such  an  evil 
prevails,  it  is  the  absolute  duty  of  every  true  American  to 
apply  the  Golden  Eule,  and  to  labor  calmly,  dispassionate- 
ly, mildly,  for  that  evil's  just  and  peaceable  abatement. 
AH  the  sophistry  on  earth  cannot  weaken  the  force  of  this 
injunction.  All  the  cunning  and  jugglery  of  interested 
selfishness  cannot  destroy  its  immortal  potency. 

"  Enlightenment  and  justice  are  fighting  the  battle 
against  darkness  and  wrong ;  and  the  latter  knowing  their 
intrinsic  feebleness,  to-day  seek  to  re-enforce  themselves  with 
the  poor  benighted  exiles,  who  seek  plenty  and  happiness 
on  our  shores — to-morrow  may  perhaps  invoke  the  aid  of 
the  hoary  nations  which  have  cast  those  exiles  forth,  and 
who  may  gladly  assist  in  destroying  the  young  giant  which 
protects  them.  The  contest  is  waxing  more  violent  and 
more  bitter.  For  me,  I  have  hoped,  and  prayed,  and 
trusted  that  it  might  be  a  bloodless  one.  But  even  now 
the  clash  of  strife  comes  to  our  ears  from  the  far  Western 
Prairie  ;  even  now  the  blare  of  that  trumpet  is  heard  which 
may  summon  a  whole  continent  to  arms.  If  so — which 
Heaven  forbid — I  cannot  think  of  the  result  as  doubtful, 
but  it  may  be  bought  at  the  expense  of  torrents  of  blood 


334  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

and  mountains  of  sorrow.  How  shall  we  prevent  such  a 
catastrophe  ? 

"  Shall  it  not  be  by  rallying  with  such  numbers  and 
with  such  enthusiasm  to  the  standards  of  Truth  and  Right 
that  the  partisans  of  Falsehood  and  Wrong  will  not  dare 
to  measure  strength  with  us,  but  will  shrink  back  appalled 
from  the  conflict?  I  know  of  no  other  means — certainly 
no  better  ones,  for  they  would  leave  us  the  option  of  ac- 
complishing by  mild  and  equable  adjustments  what  other- 
wise we  may  be  driven  to  compel  by  harsh  and  violent 
ones.  Hence  it  becomes  us  to  point  out,  so  far  as  in  us 
lies,  where  those  standards  are.  To  take  in  all  the  light  we 
can,  not  for  our  own  selfish  use  alone,  but,  like  the  stars,  to 
transmit  it  for  the  glory  and  illumination  of  all  who  come 
within  our  spheres.  This  it  becomes  all  of  us  to  do  ;  and 
this  is  my  excuse  for  coming  before  you  as  a  candidate  for 
a  district  which  at  this  time  there  is  such  slender  hope  of 
my  representing. 

"And  whatever  happens,  my  friends — for  we  live  in  days 
when  the  air  is  filled  with  portentous  whispers,  and  the 
earth  trembles  with  foreboding  mutterings — whatever  hap- 
pens, despite  the  threats  of  faction,  and  the  prejudices  of 
races,  I  cannot  believe  that  God  has  raised  up  this  beauti- 
ful land  to  such  a  pitch  of  grandeur  and  of  happiness  to 
hurl  it  down  so  soon  in  dissolution  and  decay.  I  believe 
that  it  depends  on  ourselves  that  it  shall  not  be ;  that  it 
depends  on  ourselves  whether  fifty  years  hence  shall  find 
us  a  free,  happy,  and  united  nation  of  a  hundred  million 
souls ;  or  whether  the  enemies  of  freedom  throughout  the 
world  shall  hail  with  rapture  a  long  night  of  despotism, 
when,  through  the  sinking  of  the  Great  Republic,  the  sun 
of  its  liberty  shall  have  been  extinguished  for  ever." 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  335 


CHAPTER  XLYII. 

iiTT7"ITII    all    your   material   prosperity,"   said  Robert 

VV  Eliot,  as  they  sat  after  dinner  on  the  piazza  look- 
ing fortli  on  the  glittering  line  of  the  distant  sea,  "  with  all 
your,  material  prosperity  and  the  vast  service  you  have 
rendered  to  the  cause  of  labor,  it  appears  to  me  that  the 
social  tone  is  very  much  lowered  in  America  by  the  absence 
of  an  hereditary  aristocracy." 

"  A  natural  estimate,"  returned  Vernon,  "  and  one  not 
easy  to  dispute.  For  although  in  the  golden  age  of  our 
political  system, — that  when  Washington,  Hamilton,  and 
Jay  led  the  Federal  Party,  and  Jefferson,  Monroe,  and  Burr 
headed  the  opposition — our  social  standards,  the  reflex  and 
complement  of  public  ones,  would  compare  favorably  with , 
any  in  the  world  for  dignity  and  polish,  yet  it  must  be 
remembered,  that  the  nation  was  fresh  from  the  habits  and 
traditions  of  the  parent  land,  and  that  those  standards 
have  deteriorated  in  proportion  to  the  lapse  of  years  ever 
since." 

"  I  observe,"  pursued  Eliot,  "  that  most  Americans 
whom  I  meet,  seem  unable  or  unwilling  to  perceive  that 
distinction  or  reverence  confers  reciprocal  advantages. 
They  would  seem  to  insist  that  to  set  a  man  above  his 
fellows,  for  whatever  reason,  is  only  to  do  him  good  and 
no  one  else,  and  that  therefore  such  a  practice  is  to  be 
discountenanced.  The  notion  that  self-respect  or  whole- 
some ambition  is  stimulated,  or  that  society  is  dignified  and 
elevated  by  a  scheme  of  artificial  distinctions,  appears  to  be 
quite  unknown," 

"  Irreverence  is,  indeed,  one  of  our  besetting  sins,  and 
it  will  so  continue  until  the  trade  of  politics  ceases  to  be 
disreputable,  "We  must  abandon  the  monstrous  folly  of 
electing  judges,  restrict  our  suffrage  to  rational  and  health- 
ful limits,  increase  facilities  for  free  education,  and,  above 
all,  cease  to  encourage,  by  ofiice  or  preferment,  vulgar, 
illiterate,  and  unprincipled  men." 


336  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  But  will  your  populace  submit  to,  or  accept  such 
sweeping  innovations  ?" 

"  Far  more  readily  than  Europeans  suppose.  That  is  the 
advantage  we  hope  to  gain  through  our  plan  of  universal 
education.  Your  American  bred  in  the  common  schools, 
is  eminently  practical :  and  when  he  once  understands  that 
his  condition  will  be  the  better  for  such  innovations,  he 
will  find  means  to  bring  them  about.  In  Europe,  such 
things  would  cost  revolutions ;  but  here  we  hope  to  make 
knowledge  take  their  place." 

"  It  would  certainly  be  no  more  than  fair,"  said  Eliot, 
laughing,  "since,  as  appears  to  be  the  case,  the  intellect 
and  education  of  the  nation  have  been  willing,  as  a  pro- 
tracted experiment,  to  be  governed  by  its  rabble — it  were  no 
more  than  fair,  that  the  latter  should  be  willing  for  a  while 
to  change  places,  and  be  governed  in  turn." 

"  They  may  be  obliged  anon,  whether  they  will  or  no. 
The  abuses  which  have  existed,  must,  in  the  nature  of 
things,  accumulate  to  an  intolerable  climax,  and  self-preser- 
vation will  compel  their  correction." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Eliot,  "  immigration  is  on  such  a  vast 
and  increasing  scale,  that  mere  numbers  may  prevent 
wholesome  reform  which  they  think  may  deprive  them 
of  their  privileges." 

"  The  Americans  themselves  increase  very  rapidly  ;  and 
the  new  comers  modify  as  they  struggle  up  from  their  pri- 
mary ignorance  and  darkness.  Still,  if  those  considerati  Dns 
were  inadequate  to  the  gentler  forms  of  solution — if,  in 
short,  a  conflict  of  races  were  unhappily  to  arise,  the 
usual  result  of  a  struggle  between  Anglo-Saxon  and  Celt 
would  be  inevitable, — and  history  shows  conclusively,  what 
that  is." 

"  Speaking  of  our  society,"  remarked  Stephen  Danger- 
field,  "  I  think  the  undue  importance  of  mer'e  trade  and 
traders  has  had  a  prejudicial  effect  independently  of  politi- 
cal decadence.  We  have  been  more  a  '  nation  of  shop- 
keepers' than  your  own,  for  we  have  no  recognised  *  estates' 
save  army,  navy,  and  press,  and  protracted  peace  for  the 


BEFOEE   THE   STORM.  337 

first  two,  and  catering  for  the  lowest  intelligences  for  the 
last,  have  reduced  their  counter  action  to  the  minimum. 
The  number  of  people  one  meets  who,  like  Staggers,  are 
perpetually  asking  how  much  everybody  else  is  '  worth,'  is 
a  shocking  evidence  of  the  estimate  placed  upon  mere 
money-getting." 

"You  say  nothing  of  the  Bar,"  observed  Eliot. 

"  Oh,  we  have  many  capital  lawyers,  but  you  see  they 
won't  accept  public  service  when  uneducated  and  dis- 
honorable men  are  equally  eligible." 

"  There  again,"  said  Yernon,  "  the  evil  is  plainly  to  be 
traced  to  the  common  source.  Office  must  be  made  de- 
sirable for  intelligence  and  probity  by  diminishing  its 
chances  for  ignorance  and  depravity." 

"But  I'm  sure,  papa,"  put  in  Grace,   "you  have  been' 
willing  enough  to  make  a  sacrifice  of  yourself  without  any 
such  incentive." 

"Ah,"  replied  Yernon,  laughing,  "you  see  I  am  one 
of  the  exceptions,  who  have  no  right  to  claim  credit, 
because  confident  of  never  being  elected." 

The  old  happy  life  at  Uplands  had  been  resumed.  Once 
more  the  time  glided  by  in  those  healthful  alternations 
of  mental  culture  and  country  pleasures  to  which  its 
inmates  and  their  guests  were  wont  to  devote  themselves. 
Grace,  yet  ignorant  of  the  danger  which  threatened  her 
unclouded  existence,  lived  in  a  perpetual  atmosphere  of 
sunshine  and  affection.  But  one  element  had  been  needed 
to  fill  up  the  measure — to  round  and  perfect  the  symmetry 
of  her  girlish  character,  and  this  had  been  found  in  her 
love  for  Stephen  Dangerfield.  The  rare  happiness,  too,  of 
compassing  its  fruition  without  the  necessity  of  a  practical 
separation  from  her  idolized  parent  seemed  to  leave  no 
drop  of  bitterness  for  her  approaching  cup  of  joy. 

She  had  written  to  Elinor,  and  both  Stephen  and  Eliot 
had  written  to  Cuthbert  Boynton  since  the  news  which  had 
given  them  all  such  pleasant  anticipations  of  their  future 
relations — and    the   answers    which    had   been    received, 

15 


838  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

although  on  both  sides  somewhat  shy  and  ambiguous,  yet 
fully  sanctioned  the  hope  that  those  anticipations  would  be 
realized. 

Meanwhile  sanguine  Stephen  was  lulled  into  security  by 
the  clearness  of  the  skies,  and  was  working  himself  into 
the  belief  that  the  inactivity  of  his  enemy  was  an  evidence 
of  weakness;  for  impatient  youth  is  ever  slow  to  learn 
that  steady  and  patient  preparation  will  often  reduce  to 
a  certainty,  the  success  of  a  j^roject  which  premature  de- 
monstration may  utterly  defeat.  So  as  Stephen  saw  no 
smoke,  he  believed  there  could  be  no  fire — which  was  just 
the  conviction  which  Kirkwood  sought  to  establish. 

Robert  Eliot,  cooler  and  more  dispassionate,  was  not  so 
readily  satisfied ;  and  his  friendly  interest  led  him  to  watch 
matters  with  a  wary  eye.  Yet,  even  he,  after  a  time, 
from  the  absence  of  any  apparent  weapon  which  Kirk- 
wood could  wield,  inclined  to  credit  that  none  such  could 
exist ; — and  thus,  as  the  period  fixed  for  the  wedding-day 
approached,  he  came  to  share  in  the  general  feeling  of 
security. 

If  there  were  exceptions  to  the  participants  in  this 
feeling  the}'-  were  to  be  found  in  the  persons  of  David 
Greenwood  and  Aunt  Mercy,  who  always  discussed  family 
matters  at  their  evening  tea-drinkings  in  the  housekeeper's 
room. 

"I  like  Master  Stephen,"  said  Uncle  David,  "he's  cute 
and  clever,  and  a  gentleman  to  boot.  I'd  a  darned  sight 
rather  pretty  Miss  Grace  married  him  than  one  o'  these 
'ere  cheatin'  shopkeepers  in  the  big  city.  But  Aunt 
Massy,  there's  a  kind  of  a  blight  on  Dangerfield's  Rest. 
There's  been  wrong  doin's  there,  and  there'll  be  trouble 
come  of  it  yit." 

"  How  you  talk!"  quoth  Aunt  Mei-cy  ;  "  how  can  you  be 
so  sot  about  a  thing  you  can't  know  anything  about  ?  It 
aint  charitable,  Uncle  Dave,  let  alone  the  justice  on't." 

"Well,  now,  you  just  hold  on  and  see.  I  haint  lived 
here  nigh  onto  forty  year  without  having  my  own  idees  of 
things.     Why  hasn't  the  old  man  ever  been  over  here  to 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  839 

talk  matters  over,  and  settle  about  the  young  folks'  affairs  ? 
Why  is  it  no  one  ever  sees  him  about  the  country  or  in  the 
village  like  Squire  Vernon,  or  the  other  gentlemen  that 
own  property  ?  "What's  the  reason  he  never  goes  outside 
his  own  gates,  and  never  sees  any  one  'cept  that  'ere  black- 
muzzled  chap  that  lives  there  all  the  time  ?" 

"Why,  Uncle  Dave,  the  old  gentleman's  poorly — he 
aint  strong  and  spry  like  you,  and  he  has  to  stay  in-doors 
to  take  care  of  himself  like  many  of  his  age." 

"  Don't  b'lieve  nuthin'  bout  it.  He's  done  something 
or  other  he's  ashamed  on,  or  else  he'd  show  himself  a  bit 
now  and  then  like  honest  folks.  However,  'taint  my 
business ;  only  you  recollect,  if  anything  happens,  I  told 
you  all  about  it  beforehand." 

This  rather  equivocal  proposition  being  agreed  to,  the 
worthy  pair  would  indulge  in  the  little  episode  of  what  was 
recognised  as  "  courting,"  which  usually  wound  up  their 
seances  of  an  evening.  And  if  the  shrewd  Yankee  knew 
more  than  he  disclosed,  he  had  the  sagacity  or  the  reticence 
to  keep  his  knowledge  to  himself  until  the  time  should 
arrive  when  it  might  be  made  useful  to  those  whom  he  had 
so  long  and  so  faithfully  served. 


CHAPTEE   XLYIIl. 


THE  summer  was  drawing  near  its  close,,  and  the  season 
was  at  hand  wherein,  a  short  twelvemonth  gone,  our 
narrative  commenced.  Whatever  the  blow  might  be  which 
Kirkwood  meditated,  it  had  not  yet  been  struck.  Stephen's 
visits  at  Uplands  were  as  frequent  as  ever,  and  the  house- 
hold there  was  filled  with  joy  at  having  good  reason  to 
hope  that  Elinor  Grazebrook  might  soon  share  the  happi- 
ness of  Grace,  in  a  marriage  that  promised  to  be  as  felici- 
tous as  her  own.     As  for  Oliver  Vernon,  absorbed  in  his 


840  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

charities  and  his  politics,  he  gave  little  thought  to  the  pro- 
spective harm  which  might  be  wrought  by  the  evil  genius 
lurking  so  near  his  home.  It  was  only  at  times  when  his 
eye  fell  on  the  laughing  child  whose  presence  threw  sun- 
beams over  his  path,  that  he  thought  of  one  who  was  so 
soon  to  shroud  it  in  funereal  clouds. 

The  incongruous  party  at  The  Rest  still  kept  together, 
for  the  conflicting  reasons  which  have  been  described  ;  and 
there  was  no  change  in  the  personal  relations  which  sub- 
sisted between  them.  Martin  Dangerfield  was  sad  and 
silent,  and  his  health  was  fliiling  day  by  day.  Stephen, 
while  treating  his  father  with  exceeding  tenderness,  found 
it  difficult  to  believe  that  his  conduct  was,  or  had  been, 
either  just  or  courageous  when  dealing  with  their  unwel- 
come guest.  The  latter  the  young  man  treated  with  ill- 
concealed  disdain,  such  as  would  long  since  have  cither 
driven  forth  or  provoked  to  quarrel  a  nature  more  sensi- 
tive or  a  purpose  less  indomitable. 

If  Stephen  had  not  been  so  absorbed  in  his  selfish  love — 
if  the  judgment  and  the  philosophy  which  were  really  in 
him  had  had  fair  opportunity  to  put  forth  their  forces,  he 
might  have  read  in  Kirkwood's  mobile  countenance  a  per- 
fect history  of  sarcastic  hate,  growing  and  deepening  as  the 
time  wore  on,  until  it  had  now  approached  a  climax  of 
menacing  resolve.  Not  that  he  was  unconventional  enough 
to  omit  the  social  smiles  and  graces  which  society  in  her 
commonplace  way  exacts,  and  especially  when  the  inter- 
course between  persons  is  scanty  ;  but  he  indulged  his 
pliysiognomical  whims  and  grimaces  when,  as  was  most 
usual,  Stephen  was  not  looking  at  him.  It  was  only  ano- 
ther illustration  of  the  blind,  unreasoning  folly  of  people 
who  are  head  over  ears  in  love  ;  they  never  dream  of 
watching  or  preparing  for  the  tiger  until  they  are  over- 
whelmed by  his  spring. 

One  morning  Mr.  Kirkwood  had  been  uncommonly 
taciturn.  He  scarcely  spoke  to  either  Martin  or  Stephen, 
and,  although  neither  cared  about  the  omission  for  its  own 
sake,   the  elder  man  became  plainly  uneasy  for  what  it 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  341 

miglit  presage.  Once  or  twice  his  son  happening  to  glance 
at  his  face,  noticed  an  imploring  expression  there,  as  it  was 
bent  on  Kirkwood's  ;  it  was  but  a  day  afterwards  that 
Stephen  quite  understood  what  this  meant. 

Towards  night  Kirkwood  absented  himself,  and  did  not 
return  to  The  Eest  until  long  after  its  inmates  had  retired 
to  their  pillows  ;  Stephen  had  dined  at  home,  and  spent  the 
evening  with  his  father. 

The  next  day  Stephen  was  early  at  Uplands.  There  was 
to  be  a  little  excursion  on  the  river.  Aunt  Mercy  and 
Ally  were  to  go,  and  Eliot  was  to  make  some  sketches. 
Oliver  Yernon  watched  from  his  study  window  when  the 
merry  party  set  forth ;  but  when  Grace's  silvery  laugh  rang 
up  to  his  ears,  he  covered  them  with  his  hands,  and  closed 
the  window,  and  drew  down  the  blinds.  He  did  not  quit 
his  study  all  that  day,  and  when,  as  the  shadows  were 
growing  long,  and  the  horizon  growing  dusky,  the  party 
returned,  he  sent  for  Stephen  Dangerfield  to  join  him 
there. 

What  need  to  describe  the  wretched  interview  which,  all 
protracted  as  it  was,  made  up  of  wonder,  of  expostulation, 
of  bitter  grief — sanctified  by  the  hard  wrung  drops  of 
manly  tears — memorable  as  the  blighting  hour  of  two  whole 
human  lives — can  yet  be  summed  up  in  a  single  sentence 
— a  single  line  ?  For  Stephen  went  forth  with  the  know- 
ledge that  his  dream  was  over,  and  that  himself  and  Grace 
Yernon  must  henceforth  be  to  each  other  as  strangers. 

No  reason  assigned — none  could  be  elicited  any  more 
than  from  his  father — only  this,  that  the  bar  was  insupera- 
ble. No,  it  could  not  be  removed  by  sacrifices,  by  gold, 
by  toil,  by  ariything  that  human  skill  or  pains  could  devise 
or  enforce. 

"I  love  you  even  as  my  own  son,  poor  boy,"  said  the 
kind  old  man,  tremulously,  his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  "  and 
none  the  less  now  that  you  can  never  be  so  ;  yet  it  were  a 
cruel  kindness  to  proffer  hope  which  can  never,  never  be 
realized." 

Stephen  could  not  doubt  the  probity,  the  honor  of  Yer- 


342  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

non,  nor  could  lie,  as  in  his  father's  case,  q^uestion  the  clear- 
ness of  his  judgment.  It  was  evident  his  suit  was  abso 
lutely  hopeless,  and  there  was  nothing  left  but  resignation 
or  despair.  See  Grace  ?  No,  he  would  not ;  if  this  were 
indeed  true,  perhaps  it  were  better  he  did  not  see  her. 
Motives,  explanations  for  her — for  the  world — her  father 
would  undertake,  and  he,  Stephen,  would  acquiesce  in. 
There  was  some  strange,  jumbled  talk  about  their  all  being 
friends  again  some  day  under  favorable  circumstances ;  and 
Vernon  said  something  about  how  very  excellent  and  desi- 
rable it  was,  when  people  had  loved  so  well  and  so  hope- 
lessly as  Grace  and  Stephen  had,  for  them  to  be  friends  in 
after  life — and  then  the  old  man  broke  down  completely, 
and  fairly  sobbed  on  Stephen's  shoulder — and  Stephen 
finally  rushed  hastily  from  the  room,  and  quickly  gallopped 
away. 

Vernon  had  forgotten,  or  had  otherwise  been  prevented 
from  naming  one  injunction  he  meant  to  urge — one  pro- 
mise he  proposed  to  endeavor  to  extort.  In  the  enforced 
mystery  which  environed  the  cruel  blow  which  had  over- 
taken him,  Stephen  would  naturally  suspect  the  malevo- 
lent agency  of  Kirkwood  ;  and  seeing,  as  Vernon  did,  that 
the  latter,  however  vicious,  was  in  no  wise  responsible  for 
this  particular  evil,  he  desired  to  forestall  any  collision 
which  Stephen  in  the  first  flush  of  his  grief  might  precipi- 
tate. When  he  was  alone,  Vernon  again  thought  of  this, 
and  at  once  embodied  what  he  had  omitted  to  say  in  a  note 
which  he  determined  to  send  to  Stephen  without  delay. 

Black  Vixen  flew  over  the  road  like  the  wind,  and  her 
rider  was  not  sorry  to  seek  in  the  rapid  motion  some  relief 
from  the  whirl  of  agonizing  thoughts  which  chased  each 
other  through  his  brain.  Fortune  he  fully  expected  to  be 
deprived  of — for  the  devilish  machinery  which  could  de- 
]>rive  him  of  his  mistress  might  as  readily  wrest  from  him 
that  which  only  for  lier  sake  he  had  begun  to  value.  What 
was  there  left  for  him  in  the  future  ? 

Whether  prompted  by  the  evil  spirits  whom  he  served, 
or  by  his  own  malicious  design,   Kirkwood  was  near  at 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  343 

hand.  It  was  just  after  leaving  the  Uplands'  boundary, 
and  abreast  of  Shooter's  Juttj,  that  a  turn  of  the  road  led 
Stephen  to  slacken  his  pace ;  and,  waiting  placidly  by  the 
hedge,  his  horse  browsing  some  chance  clover  under  its 
shade — sate  the  arch-enemy.  He  raised  his  hat  as  Stephen 
came  on,  and  saluted  him  with  one  of  his  courtly  bows. 
The  young  man  rode  straight  up  to  Kirkwood's  side. 

"  Have  you  completed  all  the  villany  you  intend  to  effect 
in  this  neighborhood  ?"  he  asked  in  a  voice,  subdued,  but 
thick  with  unreasoning  passion. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean  that  I  would  know  what  further  mischief  to 
expect,  of  which  you  are  the  controlling  cause." 

"You  are  unreasonable,"  said  Kirkwood  soothingly,  for 
he  saw  something  dangerous  in  his  companion's  eye  and 
manner.  "  How  can  I  possibly  tell  what  it  is  that  disturbs 
you?" 

"  How  can  I  possibly  encounter  any  mysterious  rascality 
and  not  believe  you  to  be  at  the  bottom  of  it  ?" 

"  You  do  me  too  much  honor.  For  nearly  a  year  you 
have  been  good  enough  to  attribute  to  me  whatever  of 
mischance  or  disaster  happens  to  befal  you.  If  a  murrain 
break  out  among  your  cattle,  or  the  wind  blows  down  a 
chimney  pot,  you  lay  the  disaster  at  my  door.  Very 
romantic,  perhaps,  but,  I  submit,  not  at  all  rational." 

"  Those  who  walk  in  the  light  do  not  fear  suspicion. 
I  have  a  right  to  suspect  your  hand  in  what  has  just  be- 
fallen me." 

"  It  is  you  who  are  dealing  in  enigmas.  When  I  know 
to  what  you  allude,  I  shall  not  find  it  hard  to  reply." 

"  Your  ingenuity  will  fail  to  exonerate  you — in  this 
case  at  least.  You  have  been  overheard  plotting  the  very 
mischief  to  which  I  refer." 

"  And  the  eavesdropper  ?" — 

"  Immaterial.  I  am  personally  responsible  for  the  asser- 
tion. I  say,  you  have  conspired  to  break  off"  the  engage- 
ment which  subsisted  between  Miss  Yernon  and  myself." 

"  Ah,  now  I  understand.     She  has  refused  you,  then  V" 


344  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  Pshaw,  man !  Practise  your  duplicity  witli  those  on 
whom  it  may  impose.  Keep  it  for  the  weak  fool  whom  for 
your  own  subtle  reasons  you  have  drawn  into  your  toils. 
Sparc  yourself  the  pains  with  me." 

"Yon  attribute  your  rejection  to  me,  then  ?" 

"  I  attribute  it  to  the  devilish  arts  which  you  have  devis- 
ed and  set  in  motion." 

"  How  curiously  unjust.  I  think  I  may  surmise  to  what 
you  refer.  Some  one  has  heard  me  say  that  this  marriage 
would  never  be  consummated  ?  Granted.  1  might  have 
told  you  as  much  long  before.  Suppose  I  had  done  so  : — 
vou  would  scarcely  have  thanked  me  for  depriving  you 
01  even  this  short-lived  elysium.  When  you  were  to  know 
it — and  know  it  sooner  or  later  you  must — it  were  better 
from  other  lips  than  mine.  Did  I  not  advise  you  to  enjoy 
yourself  while  you  might  ?  Had  I  been  disposed  to  do 
you  an  injury — to  curtail  your  happiness — why  did  I  then 
refrain  from  doing  so  ?" 

"  No  doubt,  to  make  the  stroke  more  cruel  and  effec- 
tual. But  I  shall  find  a  means  to  balance  the  account 
between  us," 

"  Ah,  you  threaten  again  :  I  have  told  you  before  how 
foolish  you  are  to  adopt  that  tone.  If  you  think  me  so 
strong,  don't  you  fear  to  declare  open  war  ?  Do  you  think 
no  further  evil  can  betide  you  ?" 

"  None  that  I  care  for.  None  that  your  enmity,  impla- 
cable though  it  be,  can  comj)ass." 

"  The  confidence  of  youth.  What  if  I  were  to  say  that 
my  friendship  alone  it  is  which  stands  between  you  and 
still  greater  disaster  ?" 

"  I  should  reply,  that  the  friendship  of  one  I  thoroughly 
believe  a  heartless  miscreant,  were  a  greater  disaster  than 
any  its  withdrawal  could  possibly  entail." 

"  Beware — the  test  may  be  nearer  than  you  imagine." 

Their  horses  were  now  walking  side  by  side  along  the 
road.  The  gloom  of  twilight  was  thickening,  but  it  was 
not  yet  so  dark  but  that  Stephen  would  see  that  Kirk- 
wood's  face  was  whitening  with  suppressed  anger.      The 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  845 

sight,  however,  to  his  excited  and  stricken  heart,  afforded 
more  satisfaction  than  if  it  were  a  calmer  one. 

"Beware  !"  he  repeated,  with  a  bitter  sneer.  "Of 
what  should  I  beware  ?  What  should  a  gentleman 
and  a  Dangerfield  fear  from  such  as  you?  I  am  not  a 
gamester,  a  forger,  a  thief! — There  can  only  be  threats — 
personal  accountabilities  between  equals.  What  can  I 
have  to  proffer  when  a  man  like  you  even  hints  at  such 
a  thing — what  but  utter  contempt — what  but  simple  de- 
fiance ?" 

Kirkwood's  snake-like  eyes  absolutely  blazed,  and  his 
herculean  frame  shook  with  rage ;  yet  still,  true  to  his 
instincts,  he  suppressed  his  longing  to  provoke  the  explo- 
sion until  he  himself  should  be  out  of  reach  of  its  devas- 
tating effects. 

"  Don't  defy  me,"  he  muttered  at  last.  "  You'd  better 
not — you'll  find  it  unwise — unwise  in  the  extreme.  You 
may  go  too  far.  I  am  human  as  well  as  you  ;  and,  when 
you  speak  of  accounts,  remember  there  are  debts  for  which 
I,  too,  may  extort  payment." 

"I  believe,"  Stephen  went  on  with  a  higher  key  and 
increased  exasperation,  "I  believe  all  your  stories  and 
claims  to  be  lies  and  forgeries  together.  I  have  looked 
into  your  career — there  are  others  beside  myself  who  know 
something  of  its  history — more  perhaps  than  you  are 
aware.  Beware,  forsooth !  Of  a  wretch  who  comes  into 
my  honest  home  to  enrich  himself  by  pillaging  a  weak 
old  man — practising  on  his  fears  for  some  unknown  and 
imaginary  catastrophe ! — Of  a  scoundrel  who  thrusts  his 
intrigues  between  a  man  of  honor  and  a  gentlewoman  the 
object  of  his  devotion !  Beware !  Of  one  whose  life  has 
been  one  long  soil  and  blot — a  seducer  who  blasts  the 
happiness  of  families — and  who,  if  report  speaks  true,  is 
but  the  nameless  bastard  of  some  Southern  Slavedriver!" 

As  he  finished  the  enraged  speaker  put  spurs  to  his 
mare  as  if  to  be  rid  of  the  presence  of  the  object  of  his 
passionate  denunciation.  Kirkwood  had  listened  in  silence, 
but,  as  Stephen  proceeded,  his  face  had  undergone  swift 

15* 


346  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

alternations  from  crimson  to  ashy  pallor.  His  arm  trem- 
bled as  if  each  moment  he  might  raise  it  to  smite  down  his 
accuser.  The  latter,  indeed,  was  half  ashamed  that  in  his 
anger  he  had  given  way  to  a  torrent  of  mere  words — 
especially  as  his  leaving  him  gave  Kirkwood  no  time  for 
retaliation.  With  this  thought  Stephen  slackened  his  pace, 
and  heard  as  he  did  so*  the  horse  of  the  other  coming  on 
with  long  strides  in  pursuit.  In  a  few  moments  it  was 
again  abreast,  and  then  strongly  checked  by  the  rider,  who 
raised  his  hand  to  arrest  Stephen's  attention. 

"  One  word,"  he  hissed  in  accents  of  concentrated  hate. 
"  One  word  in  return  for  all  your  compliments.  You 
would  know  the  reason  of  your  rejection.  Henceforth 
ascribe  it  to  the  right  cause." 

"To  you!" 

"  You  mistake.  The  daughter  of  Oliver  Vernon  cannot 
wed  the  son  of  his  brolher^s  Murderer  I" 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 


THE  blow  had  fallen  at  last,  and  with  crushing  effect. 
A  blow  which  neither  sagacity  could  avert  nor  caution 
parry.  A  blow  which  in  an  instant  darkened  the  destiny 
of  two  happy  and  innocent  lives,  and  placed  a  third  at  the 
point  of  dissolution.  For  it  seemed  as  if  Martin  Dangerfield 
could  not  survive  his  son's  knowledge  of  his  crime.  On 
the  night  Stephen  came  home  after  his  fatal  interview  with 
Kirkwood,  the  father  divined  through  one  look  at  his 
wretched  face  that  his  only  son — his  heir — was  added 
to  the  sharers  in  the  miserable  secret  of  his  disgrace.  The 
old  man  spoke  not  a  word,  but  handed  Stephen  the  key 
which  opened  the  cabinet  containing  that  history  it  had 
been  his  hope  to  withhold  until  after  his  death : — and  then 
crept  quietly  to  his  bed.  In  the  morning  he  was  in  a 
raging  fever. 


BEFORE   THE   STORM,  347 

During  that  awful  night  Stephen  was  poring  over  and 
reading  again  and  again  the  papers  he  took  from  the  cabinet. 
They  told  without  reservation  and  with  ample  details  the 
tale  which  he  expected  to  find.  Thej  told  how,  for  a  length 
of  time,  his  father  and  William  Vernon  and  Kirkwood 
had  been  boon  companions,  spending  many  a  night  in 
gambling  and  wassail  together ;  *  how  they  had  finally 
quarrelled  about  some  disputed  question  at  cards,  and  how 
Martin  Dangerfield  soon  afler  discovered  that  Yernon  had 
forged  his  name  to  several  checks  amounting  to  a  large 
sum  which  had  been  duly  paid  by  his  bankers  in  New 
York.  The  account  went  on  to  state  that  for  a  long  time 
they  had  not  met,  but  that  Kirkwood  had  persuaded 
Dangerfield  to  postpone  a  prosecution  and  exposure,  on 
the  ground  that  Vernon  would  replace  what  he  had 
fraudulently  obtained.  Pending  this  delay  while  walking 
late  one  evening  in  a  distant  part  of  his  grounds.  Danger- 
field  encountered  Vernon  and  Kirkwood  together.  All 
were  somewhat  excited  with  wine,  and  high  words  passed, 
when,  infuriated  by  certain  harsh  epithets  bestowed  upon 
him,  Vernon  struck  Dangerfield  across  the  face.  The 
latter  closed  with  his  assailant,  and  in  the  heat  of  the 
struggle  a  pistol  in  Dangerfield's  hand  exploded,  and  the 
bnllet  passing  through  Vernon's  breast  laid  the  unfortunate 
man  bleeding  and  dead  upon  the  turf. 

The  narrative  then  went  on  to  relate  how  Kirkwood 
had  cbncealed  the  body  among  some  bushes,  and  had  then 
forced  the  unhappy  Dangerfield  in  a  distracted  condition 
from  the  spot.  How,  after  leaving  him  at  The  Eest, 
Edrkwood  had  returned,  and  favored  by  the  darkness  of 
the  night  and  the  loneliness  of  the  spot,  had  managed  to 
convey  the  corpse  down  the  cliff,  and,  availing  of  a  boat 
on  the  shore,  had  sunk  it,  as  he  afterwards  averred,  far  out 
in  the  stream.  It  was  added  that  the  remains  were  never 
discovered,  and  that  after  a  long  search,  the  family  of 
William  Vernon  concluded  that  he  had  either  committed 
suicide  or  left  the  country — the  conditions  of  his  previous 
life  having  been  such  as  to  bring  either  contingency  within 


348  dangeefield's  rest;  or 

the  scope  of  probability.  Finally  there  followed  an  earnest 
disclaimer  of  any  evil  intent  in  the  sad  catastrophe  which 
had  occurred,  and  a  passionate  appeal  from  Martin  Dan- 
gerfield  imploring  that  his  son  would  not  curse  his  memory. 

Such,  in  brief,  was  the  gloomy  substance  of  the  docu- 
ments over  which  Stephen  spent  hours  in  staring  with 
a  sort  of  horrible  fascination.  There  was  no  more  mystery 
now.  The  secrets  of  his  father's  misery  and  of  Kirkwood's 
hidden  power  were  alike  laid  bare.  Knowing,  too,  the 
passion  that  family  pride  had  ever  been  in  that  father's 
breast,  the  son  could  measure  and  appreciate  the  tortures 
he  must  for  years  have  suffered,  not  from  remorse  alone, 
but  from  the  ever-present  apprehension  of  detection  and 
shame.  Here  likewise  was  the  motive  for  his  isolated  life ; 
here,  more  especially,  that  of  his  alienation  from  the 
neighboring  family,  which  had  so  often  been  remarked  and 
wondered  at.  And  here,  relentless  and  insurmountable, 
was  the  barrier  which  should  for  ever  prevent  a  son  of 
Martin  Dansrerfield  from  calling  Grace  Vernon  his  wife. 

Long  and  wearily  did  poor  Stephen  ponder  over  the 
woful  tragedy  he  had  perused,  and  the  course  of  action 
it  was  incumbent  on  him  to  pursue.  His  first  resolution 
was  that  his  father's  name  and  person  must  be  kept  sacred 
at  all  hazards.  Should  he  go,  he  thought,  to  Oliver  Ver- 
non ?  No  ;  he  was  not  a  man  to  dread.  Vengeance  was 
not  in  his  creed,  and  even  if  it  were,  the  misery  of  fifteen 
years — the  despairing  agony  of  a  son — might  expiate  in 
his  mild  eyes  even  the  shedding  of  a  brother's  blood.  Be- 
sides— and  Stephen's  heart  sickened  and  his  flesh  crawled 
at  the  thought — how  could  he  face  that  good  and  sinless 
man — the  father  of  her  who  was  so  pure  and  beautiful — to 
discuss  the  deeds  of  a  felon,  and  he  that  felon's  son  ? 

But  Kirkwood — aye,  there  lay  the  danger.  He  must  be 
bought,  cajoled,  threatened — anything — to  swear  an  eternal 
silence  for  the  future. 

It  was  nearly  four  o'clock,  and  the  cold,  grey  dawn  was 
glimmering  in  the  east,  when  Stephen  stole  forth  from  his 
room,    and  passed   into  the  silent  corridor.     His  father's 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  349 

door  was  ajar,  and  Stephen  heard  his  voice  feeble  and  mut- 
tering within.  He  was  calling  on  his  son,  and  imploring 
his  forgiveness ;  asleep  or  delirious,  Stephen  thought,  as  he 
glided  softlj  into  the  chamber.  The  old  man  was  in  a  fit- 
ful slumber,  the  clothes  of  the  couch  heaped  about  him  in 
feverish  confusion.  His  son  went  to  the  bedside,  and  leav- 
ing a  kiss  and  a  tear  on  the  worn  and  weary  forehead,  de- 
parted as  noiselessly  as  he  came.  Then  he  bent  his  steps 
through  the  long  passages  leading  towards  the  apartment 
in  the  further  wing  occupied  by  Kirkwood.  A  horrible 
thought  flashed  across  his  mind  as  he  went  on,  thinking  as 
he  was  of  the  misery  this  man  had  caused,  and  the  misery 
he  yet  might  cause  hereafter.  The  thought  almost  deep- 
ened into  resolve,  for  the  young  man's  teeth  set,  and  his 
haggard  eyes  burned  with  a  desperate  fire ;  but  when  he 
had  crept  into  the  room  where  Kirkwood  lay,  he  found  it 
empty  ;  the  nest  had  been  lately  occupied  indeed,  but  the 
bird  had  flown — and  Stephen  fell  upon  his  knees  and 
prayed. 


CHAPTER   L. 


THE  next  was  a  sad  day  at  Uplands.  Vernon  was  not 
one  to  postpone  a  necessary  duty,  or  to  shrink  from  a 
grief,  however  poignant,  which  must  inevitably  be  endured 
He  had  lislened  to  the  story  told  him  by  Kirkwood  with 
astonishment  and  pity.  At  first  he  was  somewhat  incredu 
lous ;  but  his  informant  was  armed  at  all  points.  He  ex- 
hibited some  unimportant  papers,  which  had  been  on  "Wil- 
liam Vernon's  person  at  the  time  of  his  death — one  of 
them  stained  with  his  blood.  He  told  the  tale  with  circum- 
stantial minuteness,  such  as  absolutely  enforced  conviction. 
Finally,  he  showed  a  brief  confession  of  the  deed  signed 
by  Martin  Dangerfield,  which  Kirkwood  had  exacted 
directly  after  it  had  been  committed,  as  one  of  the  pledges 


350  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

of  his  own  secresy,  and  as  being  essential  in  case  of  acci- 
dents to  disarm  suspicion  of  himself  as  sharing  in  the 
crime.  Vernon  failed  not  to  perceive,  likewise,  that  the 
day  and  the  hour  corresponded  with  those  of  his  brother's 
disappearance  ;  and  he  remembered  that  the  latter  had 
been  even  unusually  sullen  and  moody  for  some  time  be- 
fore that  event.  On  the  whole,  Vernon  found  himself 
obliged  to  accept  Kirkwood's  statement  as  literally  true. 

It  remained  for  him  to  determine  what  his  own  duty 
might  be  in  the  premises  ;  and  here  again  Kirkwood's  cun- 
ning was  not  at  fault  in  auguring  his  resolution.  To  de- 
nounce Martin  Dangerfield  would  not  only  involve  open- 
ing up  the  wretched  story  of  the  forgeries,  but  would  tear 
afresh  the  heart  of  his  innocent  son,  and  that  of  his  own 
unhappy  daughter.  A  conviction  would  be  doubtful,  and 
even  if  it  were  certain,  Vernon  questioned  whether  any 
real  duty  to  God  or  man  would  justify  punishment.  Pie 
resolved,  as  Kirk  wood  had  anticipated,  that,  in  retaining 
the  secret  absolutely  within  his  own  breast,  he  should  do 
what  conscience  and  prudence  would  alike  approve. 

We  spare  the  piteous  recital  to  poor  Grace  of  the  neces- 
sity which  existed  for  the  giving  up  her  betrothed.  We 
omit  the  pious  and  affectionate  dissimulation  wherewith 
Oliver  Vernon  strove  to  persuade  her  it  was  for  the  beet, 
while  he  was  compelled  to  withhold  the  facts  which  would 
show  that  necessity  to  be  absolute.  We  draw  a  veil  over 
the  agony  of  that  simple,  guileless  nature,  smitten  with  its 
first  great  grief,  and  all  conscious  as  it  was  that  the  love 
she  was  bade  to  cast  forth  from  her  heart  never  could  be 
replaced  on  earth. 

There  are  griefs  which  the  pen  should  not  seek  to  de- 
scribe, for  they  leave  the  tongue  dumb  it  would  imitate. 
Like  some  terrestrial  joys — alas !  too  few — they  come  to 
us  as  "  silence's  perfectest  herald."  Like  the  stroke  which 
Heaven  suffers  to  leap  from  its  clouds,  they  leave  their  vic- 
tim mute.  The  emotions  which  are  most  tremendous  or 
exalted  are  those  that  bring  no  speech  ;  and  they  suggest, 
as  do  all  earthly  reaches  into  the  infinite,  our  relation  to 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  351 

that  higher  existence  when  human  words  shall  be  no 
more. 

The  strange  mingling  which  all  are  destined  sometimes 
to  feel — that  of  pleasure  with  pain — was  not  wanting  now. 
A  letter  arrived  the  same  day  from  Elinor,  brimming  with 
love  and  happiness.  She  wrote  that  Boynton  had  sought 
her  once  more — every  obstacle  to  their  union  was  removed 
— and  that  he  begged  her  consent  to  its  consummation  at 
the  same  time  with  that  of  Grace  Vernon  and  Stephen 
Dangerfield.  She  wrote  too — in  a  somewhat  mysterious 
strain — that  the  causes  which  would  promote  the  felicity  of 
both  alliances  were  so  intermingled,  that  she  was  con- 
strained to  think  there  would  be  a  propriety  in  such  a 
simultaneous  celebration.  But  she  would  explain  all  to 
her  dear  friends — her  guardian  and  her  sister  Grace — whom 
she  besought  to  meet  her  at  once  in  New  York. 

Eobert  Eliot,  on  hearing  the  engagement  was  at  an  end, 
unmediately  sought  and  obtained  an  interview  with  Ste- 
phen. He  bore  an  affectionate  letter  from  Vernon,  urging 
his  young  friend  to  avoid  a  collision  of  any  sort  with  Kirk- 
wood — the  warning,  as  we  have  seen,  coming  too  late.  He 
likewise  advised  Stephen — in  a  guarded  manner,  not  know- 
ing to  what  extent  he  might  then  or  hereafter  be  conver- 
sant with  all  the  mournful  features  of  the  case — that  Kirk- 
wood  possessed  a  certain  acknoioledgment,  subscribed  to  by 
his  father,  which  it  might  be  well  to  obtain,  should  it  be 
possible,  in  view  of  any  mischievous  use  to  which  the  pos- 
sessor might  be  tempted  to  apply  it  in  the  future.  Eliot 
also  apprised  Stephen  of  the  incident  witnessed  by  little 
Ally,  on  Shooter's  Jutty.  Grace  had  communicated  it 
to  her  father,  who  thought  it  right  to  reveal  it  to  those 
whom  it  might  chiefly  concern.  What  the  man's  objects 
were,  Eliot  remarked,  neither  Mr.  Vernon  nor  himself 
could  surmise.  He  also  delicately  conveyed  an  intimation 
of  his  ignorance  as  to  the  cause  of  the  rupture  which  had 
occurred,  but  added  his  conviction  that  there  was  a  mystery 
about  Kirkwood's  proceedings  yet  to  be  unveiled,  and 
which  he  was  much  disposed  to  aid  in  discovering.     But 


352  dangerfield's  rest-,  or 

Stephen  shook  his  head  with  a  mournful  sigh,  knowing  full 
well  that  his  visitor,  however  kindly  disposed,  must  be 
powerless  in  view  of  the  circumstanees  known  to  Vernon 
and  himself.  Eliot  learned  with  interest  of  Kirkwood's 
absence,  a  circumstance  which  he  coupled  in  his  own  mind 
with  what  he  had  long  before  overheard — and  shaking  Ste- 
phen heartily  by  the  hand,  urged  him  to  keep  up  his  spirits, 
for  that  all  would  yet  be  well. 

The  same  evening  Eliot  left  Uplands  for  New  York, 
whither  he  was  followed  on  the  succeeding  day  by  Oliver 
Vernon. 

The  hour  had  come  when  Kirkwood's  plans  should  reach 
their  consummation.  He  had  waited  even  longer  than  he 
thought  prudent  in  the  hope  of  avoiding  such  risks  as  a 
forged  mortgage  would  necessarily  entail.  But  yielding 
and  timorous  as  Martin  Dangerfield  had  been  in  all  other 
respects,  he  was  firm  in  his  refusal  to  cripple  the  estate,  and 
thereby  rob  his  son  of  the  patrimony  he  had  a  right  to 
expect.  The  same  family  pride  which  led  him  to  make  all 
manner  of  sacrifices  to  prevent  a  stain  being  afiixed  to  its 
escutcheon  through  the  exposure  of  the  deed  he  had  com- 
mitted, was  powerful  in  restraining  him  from  sacrificing 
the  family  lands.  At  last,  Kirkwood  realized  that  his 
hopes  in  that  direction  were  futile,  and  promptly  resolved 
upon  the  alternative  he  had  always  kept  in  view.  In  order 
to  facilitate  the  arrangement  which,  with  the  aid  of  Stag- 
gers, he  proposed  to  effect  with  Gossamer  Von  Donk,  it  was 
essential  that  the  engagement  between  Grace  Vernon  and 
Stephen  Dangerfield  should  be  unmistakably  broken  off. 
That  preliminary  was  now  disposed  of,  and  there  was  every 
reason  he  should  complete  what  he  had  to  do  with  the 
utmost  speed.  Indeed,  the  threats  of  Mary  Grazebrook 
were  daily  becoming  more  peremptory,  for  the  time  had 
elapsed  when  it  had  been  stipulated  Kirkwood  was  to  make 
good  the  sum  belonging  to  Elinor.  When  to  these  con- 
siderations was  added  that,  from  the  suspicious  character 
of  his  movements  and  the  number  of  interests  involved, 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  853 

his  intrigues  might,  at  any  moment,  be  detected  and  de- 
nounced, it  was  evidently  highly  desirable  for  him  to  wind 
up  his  affairs  and  decamp  with  his  booty. 

It  was,  therefore,  within  a  very  brief  space  that  he  car- 
ried into  effect  the  negotiation  of  the  mortgage,  which  we 
need  scarcely  say  was  forthcoming  in  proper  form.  The 
signature  of  Martin  Dangerfield,  duly  witnessed  by  two  old 
servants  of  the  family,  and  well  known  as  it  was  to  Stag- 
gers, would  have  borne  a  scrutiny  more  disposed  to  suspi- 
cion than  the  prudent  broker  found  it  his  interest  to  l3e. 
Gossamer  was  the  more  ready  to  advance  the  large  sum 
agreed  upon,  since  he  heard  from  Eliot  on  the  third  day 
after  Kirkwood's  arrival  in  town,  a  corroboration  of  the 
latter's  statement  that  the  obnoxious  engagement  was 
really  at  an  end.  The  delivery  of  the  instrument  was  pru- 
dently avoided  by  Kirkwood  up  to  the  last  moment,  that  he 
might  have  as  much  time  as  possible  to  secure  his  retreat. 
It  was  necessary  to  silence  Mary  Grazebrook  for  a  little 
longer,  to  pay  a  flying  visit  to  The  Eest  that  he  might 
secure  his  buried  treasures  at  Shooter's  Jutty,  and  then  he 
was  free  to  depart.  All  these  plans  were  now  on  the  eve 
of  fulfilment.  It  was  a  Friday,  the  mortgage  had  been 
delivered  just  before  the  close  of  banking  hours,  and  the 
proceeds  were  secretly  turned  into  bills  on  Europe ;  and 
Kirkwood  chuckled  with  satisfaction  as  he  reflected  that 
in  a  few  short  days  he  should  be  speeding  across  the  broad 
ocean  to  enjoy  them. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

A  DREARY  autumnal  evening  with  the  leaves  rattling 
down  from  the  tree-tops,  and  the  wind  sighing  and 
moaning  ceaselessly  through  branches  that  looked  pitiful 
in  their  bereavement.  Such  evenings  are  always  saddest 
in  the  poor  quarters  of  a  great  city.  No  strong  shade 
to  throw   coolness  and   mistiness   over  half  the  vista,  to 


354  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

temper  the  staring  dirt  and  meanness  of  the  brighter  half. 
All  one  dull  wearisome  monotone,  with  never  a  trace  of 
relief  or  colour  to  lessen  its  tedium  or  soften  its  melancholy. 

It  had  been  very  dark. during  the  afternoon,  and  con- 
tinued so  until  it  was  quite  time  for  the  sunset.  Then 
there  appeared  one  of  these  curious  phenomena  of  the 
atmosphere  which  people  notice  very  little  because  they 
are  so  common.  The  lead  colour  which  suffused  the  air 
changed  suddenly  to  a  murky  pink,  which  again  merged 
into  an  ominous  crimson.  Easily  explained,  no  doubt,  by 
natural  laws  of  light  and  refraction  ;  but  it  gave  no  single 
person  who  did  notice  it,  the  idea  of  something  natural. 

On  the  contrary,  it  suggested  instinctively  the  idea  of 
something  out  of  the  normal  and  legitimate  course — some- 
thing which  served  as  a  precursor  to  events  mysterious  and 
horrible  which  were  to  come.  So  thought  James  Kirk- 
wood  as  he  peered  forth  at  the  skies  from  the  windows  of 
his  hotel,  and  his  spirits  sank  lower  and  lower  until  with  a 
violent  and  angry  effort  he  changed  the  current  of  gloomy 
reflection.  "  Absurd,"  he  muttered,  gnawing  the  end  of 
his  cigar,  "thrice  absurd!  It  means  simply  that  we  are 
to  have  what  we  shall  all  be  glad  of— a  fair  day  to-morrow, 
and  I  am  conjuring  up  a  horde  of  avenging  furies !    Pshaw !" 

He  was  in  the  reading-room  of  the  house,  and  he  had 
continued  gazing  through  the  windows  on  the  crowded 
thoroughfare  until  it  grew  darker  and  darker,  p,nd  the 
sanguinary  glare  had  quite  faded  out  of  the  atmosphere 
Then,  one  by  one,  the  street-lamps  were  lighted,  and  now 
they  were  winking  and  blazing  on  the  myriad  faces  of  the 
passers-by.  Kirk  wood  looked  at  his  watch  and  walked 
away  into  the  bar  at  the  rear  of  the  building  and  took 
a  heavy  draught  of  brandy-and-water. 

" Time  to  be  moving,"  he  muttered  again.  "Time  to  be 
moving,  or  this  She-devil  may  yet  do  me  a  mischief.  None 
so  dangerous  as  those  who  have  nothing  to  lose."  He 
drew  forth  his  tablets  and  made  sundry  swift  calculations. 
"  Quite  a  hundred  thousand  in  all — enough  for  any  one  of 
my  moderate  habits.     Yet  I  might  make  it  much  more  if 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  355 

she  were  only  silenced.  And  still  what  can  she  do,  after 
all?  Denounce  me-?  Where  are  her  proofs? — No  ;  better 
not  stir  this  time  until  the  nest  is  well  feathered.  I  must 
see  her,  however,  and  close  her  mouth  for  the  present. 
Perhaps  I'll  make  love  to  her  again,"  glancing  at  his  swart 
yet  handsome  face  in  an  opposite  mirror,  "  that  never  failed 
yet — even  now  may  answer  best  of  all." 

He  strode  forth  from  the  hotel  and  presently  turned 
sharply  to  the  left  and  plunged  into  the  network  of 
streets  lying  to  the  westward  of  Broadway.  The  man  was 
evidently  in  a  nervous  mood,  for  he  paused  in  his  course 
at  one  of  the  abounding  corner  liquor  shops  and  again 
fortified  himself  with  his  fiery  comforter.  Soon  he  reached 
the  neighbourhood  we  have  seen  him  approach  before,  and 
arrived  at  the  squalid  court  which  contained  the  lodging 
of  Mary  Grazebrook.  Again  he  groped  his  way  up  the 
dark  and  narrow  staircase  and  once  more  knocked  at  her 
door.  The  room  was  unlighted,  and,  as  he  entered,  he 
stumbled  over  something  just  inside;  a  crash  followed, 
but  he  recovered  himself  in  time  to  avoid  falling. 

"Whattheh— ll's  that?" 

"  Charcoal,  James.  Very  convenient  to  cook  with,  and 
to  light  a  fire  sometimes,"  said  a  voice  out  of  the  gloom. 

"  Why  in  the  fiend's  name  don't  you  have  a  light?" 

"  It's  expensive,  worthy  sir,  and  besides  it  drives  away 
my  companions — there's  much  better  society  in  the  dai'k." 

"Stuff,"  he  grumbled,  closing  the  door,  while  his  com- 
panion proceeded  to  strike  a  light.  "  You  can  have  money 
enough  for  the  asking." 

"Can  I?  Yes,  when  you  know  there'll  be  no  asking, 
you  can  be  liberal  enough,  no  doubt.  But  my  child — 
where's  my  child's  money,  James  ?  That  which  belongs  to 
her,  I  mean — you've  broken  your  word,  again,  my  generous 
friend  ; — have  you  come  to  tell  me  why?" 

"I've  been  unfortunate,"  he  said,  throwing  himself 
testily  into  a  chair.  "  Things  have  gone  ill  with  me.  I 
can't  do  impossibilities.     You  must  give  me  more  time." 

"  What  an  accomplished  liar  you  are,  James,"  said  Mary 


856  dangeufield's  rest;  or 

Grazebrook,  turning  the  light  full  upon  his  dark  face,  and 
regarding  it  with  a  look  of  contempt,  not  altogetlier 
unleavened  by  admiration.  "  You  really  improve  with 
years  instead  of  retrograding." 

"  "What  do  you  mean  by  sending  me  this  infernal  threat- 
ening letter?"  he  inquired  savagely,  and  throwing  her 
note  upon  the  table.  The  liquor  he  had  drunk  was 
beginning  to  make  him  brutal. 

"How  handsome  and  attractive  he  looks  when  he's 
angry,"  said  the  woman  jeeringly,  "but  he  mustn't  think 
to  frighten  any  one  here.  We're  used  to  that  sort  of  thing, 
and  it  doesn't  even  make  our  pulse  beat  quicker.  Feel  1" 
and  she  stretched  forth  her  hand  on  which  her  old  marriage 
ring  glinted  in  the  light,  and  which,  as  his  eyes  fell  on  it, 
seemed  to  exasperate  him  the  more.  She  followed  his 
glance  and  seemed  to  read  his  thought. 

"  I  know  what  you're  thinking  of,  James  Kirkwood. 
You're  thinking  of  the  time  when  that  little  circle  of  metal 
meant  something,  and  when,  if  an  unhappy  wife,  I  was 
still  not  a  dishonoured  one.  You're  thinking  of  the  time 
when  you  came  stealing  in,  first  with  looks  of  compassion, 
then  with  whispers  of  sympathy,  then  with  pressures  of 
the  hand  and  words  of  manly  consolation,  paving  the  way, 
step  by  step,  inch  by  inch,  to  make  me  the  foul  thing  you 
afterwards  transformed  me  to.  It's  a  brave  recollection, 
man,  isn't  it?  See  here."  And  she  rose  abruptly,  and 
opening  a  defoced  writing-case  which  stood  on  a  bureau, 
drew  forth  a  miniature  and  held  it  up  before  him.  It  was 
that  of  a  handsome,  sunny-faced  young  man,  with  a  bright 
smile,  a  clear  blue  eye  uplifted  in  hope,  and  curling  auburn 
hair.  You  could  see  now  where  Elinor's  wavy  blonde 
tresses  came  from.  "  You  remember  him,  too,  don't  you, 
James?  This  was  taken  in  the  first  year  you  knew  him — 
he  changed  sadly  in  the  last  one,  didn't  he  ?" 

"  Take  it  away,  woman,"  said  Kirkwood  hoarsely,  and 
shading  his  eyes  from  the  light.  "  AYhat  devil  is  it  that 
tempts  you  to  bring  up  all  these  memories  now  ?" 

"It's  my  humour,  that's  all,"  she  answered  mournfully. 


BEFORE   THE   STORlf.  357 

"  I  often  gaze  on  bim  for  hours  together,  and  why  shouldn't 
you  see  him  sometimes?  Am  I  to  bear  all  the  punishment, 
and  you  escape  scot-free?  '  Yes,'  you  would  say.  That's 
your  idea  of  justice,  isn't  it  ?  Justice  !"  and  she  gave  a 
scornful  laugh,  "  Justice  !  Do  you  believe  in  such  a  thing, 
James,  now  or  hereafter  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  believe — that  if  you  don't  put 
that  thing  away,  I  shall  do  you  a  mischief — do  you 
hear  ?" 

"  Ho,  ho  !  A  mischief!  As  if  he  could  do  me  any  mis- 
chief in  this  world  greater  than  he  has  already  inflicted  I 
Threaten  those  you  can  injure,  coward, — not  me." 

"  What's  come  to  you,  Mary  ?"  he  asked,  and  speaking 
more  gently,  "  what's  the  matter  with  you  to-night  ?  We 
can  do  no  good  by  quarrelling — do  be  reasonable." 

"  Well,  I  will — I  will  be  reasonable.  You're  quite  right 
— the  time  has  long  gone  by  for  words  between  us — There 
should  now  be  only  deeds.  Come,"  she  continued,  restor- 
ing the  likeness  to  its  place,  "  come ;  I'll  tell  you  why  I 
wrote  that  letter,  and  in  a  very  few  words.  It  was  because 
you  are  the  father  of  my  child,  and  although  I  hate  you, 
and  am  at  no  pains  to  conceal  it,  yet  for  her  sake  I  would 
save  you  from  open  disgrace — from  penal  punishment !" 

"  Punishment  ?  Pshaw.  What  can  you  do — who  will 
believe  you — what  can  you  prove  ?" 

"  First — not  of  what  I  can  do  but  of  what  I  have  done. 
I  have  drawn  up  a  sketch  of  your  life  and  achievements — 
nothing  omitted  that  I  know  of — the  thefts,  the  forgeries, 
the  subornations, — I  believe  I  might  add  murders,  but 
of  them  I  am  not  certain, — together  with  such  circumstan- 
tial evidence  as  I  have  been  long  collecting  and  putting 
together — and  this  sketch  1  have  sent" — 

"  To  the  ministers  of  the  law  ?" 

"  No — to  Oliver  Vernon." 

Kirkwood  made  a  quick  tiger-like  movement  as  if  con- 
templating a  spring,  but  the  woman  drew  a  small  revolver 
from  her  breast  and  placed  it  quietly  on  the  table  before 
her. 


358  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

"  Don't  be  rash,  James.  My  nerves  are  steadier  than 
yours,  for  you've  been  drinking,  I  see.  Is  there  need  to 
tell  you  why  I  have  done  this?  None,  I  should  say. 
You  had  fair  warning.  You  robbed  my  child  and  sent 
her  forth  to  a  life  of  privation,  perhaps  to  become  an  out- 
cast in  the  end,  like  her  mother.  It  is  right  that  I  should 
protect  her  if  I  can.     I  mean  to  do  so." 

He  crossed  his  arms  upon  his  breast,  and  looked  her 
steadily  in  the  eye.  It  was  his  fashion  when  he  once  began 
to  believe  that  he  must  face  danger.  When  he  spoke,  it 
was  mildly,  almost  affectionately. 

"There  was  a  time,  Mary,  when  you  would  not  have 
used  these  words  of  menace.  Even  now  you  will  repent 
having  used  them.  What  you  have  done  is  mere  spite, 
— simply  that,  because  it  can  only  harm  you  and  cannot 
touch  myself.  Nothing  that  you  allege  can  be  proved 
against  me.  Even  those  letters  which  might  have  shown 
something  are  destroyed." 

"  You  mistake,"  she  replied  coldly,  "some  of  them  still 
exist." 

"  By  your  treachery,  then." 

"  Call  it  what  you  like — enough  remain  to  answer  the 
purpose." 

"  Pardon  me — but  I  don't  believe  it." 

"  I  could  convince  you,  but  that  will  come  soon  enough. 
Suffice  that  what  I  say  is  true." 

"Ah!  you  have  something  perhaps  to  which,  in  your 
ignorance  of  the  law,  you  attach  undue  importance.  Come, 
I  will  be  generous  with  you.  Vernon  is  a  soft  fool,  who 
will  hesitate  long  before  he  strikes.  Go  to  him;  retract 
what  you  have  written — say  it  was  suggested  by  a  jealous 
frenzy,  or  what  you  will.  Give  me  such  papers  as  you 
have,  and  the  same  hour  I  restore,  or  rather  give  you  Eli- 
nor's patrimony.     Is  it  agreed  ?" 

"  No.  I  can  no  longer  trust  you.  Besides,  I  have  re- 
solved that — in  this  part  of  the  world,  at  least — you  shall 
work  no  more  evil." 

"You  refuse?" 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  359 

"  Distinctly." 

"  Then  take  the  consequences."  He  rose  as  he  spoke, 
and  her  quick  hand  fell  on  the  pistol,  "  Oh  !  don't  fear," 
he  continued,  with  a  sneering  laugh,  "  I've  no  mind  to  harm 
you — at  least  in  that  way.  I'll  even  tell  you  how  the  blow 
will  come,  that  it  may  not  find  you  unprepared.  To-mor- 
row I  shall  lodge  an  information  against  you  for  defama- 
tion and  conspiracy  ;  you  have  no  friends — no  means  ;  you 
will  be  locked  up — incarcerated  in  a  felon's  cell,  until  such 
time  as  I  choose  to  take  further  action  to  chastise  you." 

She  rose  also,  and  waved  her  hand  with  the  gesture  of  a 
queen. 

"  Idle,  Idle  all,  James,  even  if  your  power  were  equal 
to  your  will.  Nay,  even  were  you  to  kill  me  to-night — 
which  I  don't  mean  you  shall,"  with  a  significant  glance  at 
the  pistol,  "  it  would  still  do  you  no  good.  Your  position, 
indeed,  would  be  far  more  critical  than  before — ^your  fate 
more  hopelessly  sealed." 

"  And  why— tell  me  that !" 

"  Because,  James  Kirk  wood,"  and  her  voice  concentrated 
into  its  deepest  and  steadiest  monotone,  "because  that  man 
still  lives y 

"Liar!" 

"True,  so  help  meGrod!  Do  you  think  his  evidence 
will  be  sufficient  ?" 

The  veins  in  Kirkwood's  throat  and  forehead  swelled 
up  until  they  stood  out  in  startling  relief  from  his  swarthy 
skin,  and  his  voice  came  thick  and  husky. 

"And  you  have  written  Yernon  this  also  ?" 

"No.  I  only  knew  it  for  a  fact  to-day — but  to-mor- 
row— " 

"  To-morrow  you  will  communicate  it  to  him  ?" 

"  I  will." 

"That  by  G — d  you  never  shall!"  And  he  advanced 
threateningly  upon  her. 

Instantly  she  raised  the  pistol. 

"  Stand  back,  man,  or  I  fire  !" 

But  accustomed  to  think  and  act  simultaneously,  and 


360  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

relying  upon  the  uncertainty  of  her  aim,  he  sprang  for- 
ward. As  he  did  so,  she  drew  the  trigger,  and  the  cap 
exploded  harmlessly.  The  weapon  had  been  too  long 
loaded.  In  another  second  Kirkwood  had  wrenched  it 
from  her  grasp,  and,  transported  with  his  fury,  had  dealt 
her  a  heavy  blow  in  the  forehead  with  the  stock.  Mary 
Grazebrook  reeled  for  a  moment,  and  then  fell  heavily  to 
the  floor. 

Only  for  a  second  did  Kirkwood  pause  to  gaze  on  the 
prostrate  form  before  him  ;  in  the  next  he  had  noise- 
lessly locked  the  door. 

"  Only  in  a  swoon,''  he  muttered,  and  then  he  looked 
wistfully  at  the  pistol.  "  No,"  he  went  on,  "  no  noise — 
that  would  ruin  all — 3^et  she  must  be  silenced.  Whether 
true  or  false,  for  her  to  repeat  that  were  my  destruction. 
What's  to  be  done  ?" 

He  lifted  the  body,  and  carried  it  like  a  feather  to  the 
inner  room,  where  he  laid  it  on  the  bed,  and  put  his  ear 
down  to  the  mouth.  "No  breath,''  he  whispered,  "but 
'twill  come  soon  enough,  unless  prevented."  Then  he  tried 
the  lock  of  the  door  leading  from  one  room  to  the  other.  It 
fastened  easily.  This  was  the  only  outlet.  Not  even  a 
window  to  the  chamber.  The  sole  ventilation  must  come 
from  the  sitting-room.  Suddenly  he  returned  thither,  and 
stepping  towards  the  door,  his  eyes  fell  on  the  basket  over 
which  he  stumbled  on  first  entering,  and  a  grim  smile 
broke  over  his  face. 

"  I  could  not  touch  her  again,"  said  he  with  a  shudder, 
"  but  she  might  easily  kill  herself  with  this.  How  com- 
mon !  and,  in  her  case,  how  much  cause !"  With  that  he 
descried  a  closet  by  the  fire-place,  and  speedily  found  what 
he  shrewdly  suspected  must  be  somewhere  on  the  premises 
— a  portable  brazier.  Hastily  he  filled  it  with  the  char- 
coal, and  ^rried  it  into  the  inner  space.  Then  he  reflected 
a  little,  iSnd  began  searching  about  for  something  else. 
"  Women  of  this  sort  always  keep  it,"  he  murmured,  "as 
well  as  gamblers — sleep  must  be  more  than  entreated  some- 
times."   Presently  he  found  a  phial  on  a  shelf  in  the  closet, 


BEFOEE   THE   STORM,  861 

whicli  contained  a  dark-coloured  fluid.  This  lie  both  smelt 
and  tasted,  and  became  satisfied  that  the  label  correctly 
described  the  contents.  Next  he  found  a  spoon,  and  car- 
rying the  phial  back  into  the  chamber,  he  cautiously  pour- 
ed out  a  few  drops,  and  placed  it  gently  to  the  woman's 
lips.  Even  his  iron  nerves  shook  for  a  moment  as  her 
passive  mouth  received  the  opiate.  "Courage,"  he  thought, 
"  'tis  no  murder,  after  all."  Strange  discrimination ;  he 
meant  to  kill,  but  dared  not  directly,  with  his  own  hands 
commit  the  deed.  This  done,  he  again  went  to  the  main 
apartment,  and  opened  the  escritoire^  wherein  Mary  had 
placed  her  husband's  miniature.  It  was  filled  with  papers 
which,  without  pausing  for  examination,  he  thrust  into  the 
stove,  and  applied  the  candle.  Then  he  took  the  picture, 
and  carrying  it  to  his  victim's  bedside,  he  placed  it  careful- 
ly in  her  bosom.  The  action  was  mainly  dictated  by  craft, 
but  it  was  not  altogether  without  a  spark  of  sentiment. 
"  She  would  wish  it,"  he  reflected,  and  actually  took  credit 
to  himself  for  consulting  her  probable  desire.  There  was 
a  pocket-book  in  the  desk  with  a  little — a  very  little — 
money  in  it ;  he  pondered  for  a  moment,  and  then  added 
two  or  three  bank  notes  to  the  store,  and  replaced  the  book 
in  the  desk.  He  examined  rapidly  to  discover  if  there 
were  any  outlets  or  inlets  for  air  communicating  with  the 
room  within.  There  were  none.  Even  at  the  bottom  of 
the  door,  which  might  have  been  half  an  inch  from  the  sill, 
there  was  a  piece  of  listing,  which  rendered  the  place  quite 
impervious. 

Finally,  he  took  the  candle  into  the  chamber,  set  it  on  a 
chair,  and  paused.  He  fancied  she  had  commenced  to 
breathe.  No ;  the  body  was  still  motionless — insensible. 
Then  he  imagined  he  heard  a  step  on  the  stairs,  and  hs 
held  his  own  breath  and  listened.  No  one  ;  tiie  whole 
place  was  as  silent  as  the  grave.  A  fresh  thoii^t  struck 
him,  and  he  carried  the  pistol  with  the  hammer  down  on 
the  exploded  cap  and  laid  it  on  the  floor  by  the  bed. 

"  That's  all,"  he  mused ;  "  every  thing  that  can  be  done. 
The  pistol,  the  laudanum,  the  charcoal,  each  will  tell  of  a 

16 


362  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

determined  suicide.  No  one  saw  me  enter,  none  will  see 
me  depart.  No  one  may  come  for  days  yet,  and  to-morrow 
I  may  be  on  blue  water." 

He  gazed  for  a  while  on  the  still  beautiful  face  before 
him,  and  perhaps  the  skilful  might  have  traced  some  lin- 
gering compunction  on  his  own  marble  countenance.  He 
could  not  all  forget  that  he  had  once  loved  and  sworn 
to  cherish  this  poor  inanimate  clay.  But  whatever  his 
thoughts  or  feelings  he  did  not  hesitate  long.  "  She  or  me," 
he  muttered,  "she  or  mc.  She  would  be  implacable  after 
this — and  then — if  what  she  says  be  true — !"  The  sweat 
stood  on  his  brow  as  he  thought  of  what  might  happen 
should  he,  through  weakness  or  accident,  forego  his  pur- 
pose. 

"  No,"  thought  he  again.  "  No  folly,  no  irresolution. 
All  can  be  managed  but  her,  and  she  once  gone — " 

He  stooped  down  and  carefully  arranged  fragments  of 
paper  and  shavings  which  he  had  gathered  in  a  manner  to 
insure  the  ignition  of  the  coals.  Then  he  brought  more 
of  the  latter,  adjusting  them  with  extreme  nicety  so  that 
they  might  burn  with  freedom,  and  without  falling  upon 
the  floor.  "  Though  for  that  matter,"  he  murmured,  "one 
would  answer  as  well  as  the  other — but  not  so  safe — not  so 
safe.  People  might  come  and  extinguish  the  flames,  and 
rescue  her — maimed  and  disfigured  perhaps, — to  hunt  me 
for  life, — no,  that  must  not  be." 

At  last  he  lighted  the  inflammable  matter  in  the  bottom 
of  the  brazier,  and  after  watching  carefully  till  it  was  safely 
ablaze,  he  took  the  candle  and  withdrew.  Then  he  closed 
the  door,  locked  it  from  without,  and  thrust  the  key  well 
under  the  listing  into  the  room  again.  As  he  did  so  a  con- 
vulsive shudder  shook  his  whole  frame.  Wretch  as  he 
was,  he  felt  that  the  action  was  irrevocable,  and  all  there 
was  left  ^^humanity  in  his  degraded  nature  revolted  at  the 
deed.  JPc  he  could  not  do  things  by  halves.  He  had 
gone  too  far  for  that.  As  a  final  precaution  he  stuffed  some 
loose  paper  into  the  key-hole — it  might  have  been  placed 
there  from  within,  he  thought,  as  well  as  from  without. 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  363 

He  extinguished  the  candle,  passed  softly  into  the  entry, 
locked  the  outer  door,  thrust  the  key  under  it  as  with  the 
other,  and  stole  softly  down  stairs.  He  waited  a  moment 
at  the  street  entrance,  but  all  was  silent, — not  even  the  tread 
of  a  distant  passer-by  could  be  heard, — and  he  pressed  his 
cloak  far  up  over  his  face  and  fled  away  into  the  darkness. 


CHAPTEE  LH. 


KIEKWOOD  went  straight  to  his  hotel.  There  were 
papers  to  secure,  and  he  thought  it  wise  to  show 
himself  in  his  familiar  haunts  before  starting  by  a  late 
train  for  the  North.  To  do  what  he  had  to  do,  ending  with 
the  payment  of  his  bill  at  the  office  of  the  house,  did  not 
occupy  many  minutes.  He  would  send  for  his  portman- 
teau, he  told  the  clerk,  and,  should  any  one  call,  would  he  be 
good  enough  to  say  that  Mr.  Kirkwood  had  left  town.  It 
was  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  the  man  strode  away  to 
cross  the  threshold  of  the  place  for  the  last  time.  He  had 
a  consciousness  that  it  was  well  so  to  manage  as  not  to  be 
easily  found,  in  case  of  accidents.  Yet  he  reflected  that, 
should  the  worst  happen,  the  more  witnesses  to  attest  to 
having  seen  him  that  evening  the  better.     Therefore,  he 

determined  to  go  to  the Club  in  Fifth  Avenue :   he 

would  probably  meet  Staggers  there,  or  young  Von  Donk 
and  others  of  their  set.  Thus  resolved  he  passed  through 
the  hall,  and  had  just  set  his  foot  on  the  pavement  of 
Broadway  when  some  one  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

It  required  all  Kirkwood's  hardihood  to  enable  him  to 
bear  this  sudden  intimation  without  either  flinching  or  cry- 
ing out— but  he  did  so.  As  he  turned  he  sa-M^nd  recog- 
nised the  person  who  sought  his  attention — J^rvant  of 
Oliver  Yernon's — whom  he  remembered  to  have  noticed 
at  Uplands. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  man  respectfully, 


304  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  but  I  was  to  find  you  and  give  you  this."  He  held  forth 
a  note  and  stood  as  if  waiting  for  a  replj^  while  Kirkwood 
rapidly  opened  and  read  it.  It  was  from  Vernon  and  ran 
thus : — 

Street,  Friday,  p.m. 

"Mr.  Vernon  presents  his  compliments  to  Mr.  Kirk- 
wood, and  for  reasons  of  importance,  requests  that  Mr. 
Kirkwood  will  call  at  the  above  address  during  the  presen 
evening.  Mr.  Kirkwood  will  find  it  to  his  disadvantage 
should  he  fail  to  respond  to  this  invitation." 

Kirkwood  reflected.  "  This  comes  of  Mary's  letter. 
Clearly  he  can  know  nothing  of  the  other  matter.  It 
won't  answer  to  refuse  to  go.  On  the  contrary,  it  were 
perhaps  the  best  of  alibis.  As  to  this  pitiful  money  of 
Elinor's,  I  can  promise  to  restore  it  if  need  be — give  notes 
— anything  to  gain  time.  He'll  scarcely  proceed  to  ex- 
tremities for  the  children's  sake.  Probably  he  means 
nothing  more  than  a  warning  and  a  suggestion  to  make 
myself  scarce.     Yes,  I'll  go." 

"  Tell  your  master,"  he  said  at  last  aloud,  "  that  you 
have  seen  me — let  me  see — why,  'tis  nine  o'clock — "  look- 
ing at  his  watch,  "  and  that  I  will  have  the  pleasure  of 
waiting  upon  him  before  ten." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  again  said  the  man,  "  but  Mr. 
Vernon  thought  it  might  be  convenient  for  you  to  be 
driven  to  the  house,  and  so  sent  his  carriage.     Here  it  is." 

Kirkwood  looked  up  and  saw  the  vehicle — the  driver  on 
the  box — close  by  the  curb.  A  superstitious  thrill  ran 
through  his  breast.  "  Have  they  been  watching  me,"  he 
asked  himself,  "  can  these  men  know? — Impossible." 

"  Have  you  been  waiting  long  ?"  he  asked. 

"  About  an  hour,  sir,"  replied  the  man.  "  If  we  did 
not  find  ^ki  here  by  nine  o'clock,  we  had  a  list  of  places 
at  which  Wseek  you." 

Kirkwood's  busy  thoughts  ran  on.  "Wliat  does  this 
mean?  Does  Vernon  propose  to  make  me  a  prisoner? 
Absurd.     He  can  have  no  warrant — there  is  no  charge — 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  365 

can  be  none — at  all  events  not  to-night.  Well,  I'll  go — go 
and  face  it  out,  be  it  what  it  may.  Those  concerned  will 
be  wary  how  they  drive  me  to  a  corner.  They  know  too 
well  what  precious  scandals  I  can  bring  on  them  all.  There 
is  only  one  man  I  need  fear,"  and  he  clenched  his  hand, 
and  a  withering  frown  knitted  his  brow,  "  and  only  him 
because  he  is  reckless  and  impulsive.  Damn  him !  And 
I  to  think  of  departure  without  settling  accounts  with  the 
young  cub.  This  comes  of  old  Martin's  obstinacy.  How- 
ever, I  can  pay  off  the  score.  Once  safe  abroad  I  can 
cause  the  thing  to  be  published  far  and  wide.  They  shall 
feel  that  my  arm  can  still  reach  them,  if  I  am  three  thou- 
sand miles  away." 

Briefer  to  think  these  thoughts  than  to  write  them.  By 
this  time  Kirkwood's  expression  was  quite  cheerful.  He 
had  escaped  for  a  moment  the  awful  thought  of  the  crime 
he  had  last  committed,  and  was  revelling  in  the  anticipation 
of  mischief  to  come. 

"  All  right,"  he  cried  gaily,  as  he  sprang  into  the  car- 
riage, "  'twas  fortunate  you  found  me."  The  door  was 
closed  and  then  a  man  got  on  the  box,  and  the  vehicle 
rolled  swiftly  away.  Suddenly  they  passed  a  bright, 
flaring  light — it  was  at  the  door  of  one  of  those  pestilent 
"  Concert  Saloons,"  which  infest  Broadway.  Through 
the  glass  above  the  front  seat  Kirkwood  could  see  the 
figures  on  the  box.  One  was  the  driver  whom  he  had 
noticed  before,  but  the  other — Kirkwood's  heart  sank  with 
apprehension — who  was  the  other  ?  The  man  who  brought 
him  the  note  was  dressed  in  distinctive  drab — trousers  and 
coat  alike — but  this  man's  attire  was  sombre — all  black  or 
nearly  so.  What  should  be  his  object  ?  The  smile  faded 
from  the  murderer's  lip,  and  the  anxious  look  of  doubt 
and  dread  came  back  again.  His  fingers  began  to  play 
nervously  with  a  carefully  loaded  revolver  he  pulled  from 
his  pocket.  Then  he  drew  forth  a  small  bowie  knife,  and 
passed  his  thumb  along  its  edge.  Whoever  tried  to  arrest 
him  should  make  a  stiff  fight  for  it — on  that  he  was  deter- 
mined.    But  resolution  could  not  keep  down  the  stifling 


8G6  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

doubts  and  fears  which  were  constantly  rising  to  his  brain, 
and  from  which  he  was  henceforth  never  to  be  Irce. 

The  carriage  rolled  swiftly  on,  and  the  time  seemed  all 
too  short  to  its  desperate  occupant  before  it  drew  up  sharpl}'- 
before  Oliver  Vernon's  door.  So  many  chances  to  be 
weighed,  so  many  contingencies  to  be  guarded  against! 
How  much  was  known  and  how  little  ?  True,  he  was  on 
his  guard  as  to  the  revelations  of  Mary  Grazebrook — they 
were  doubtless  unfortunate,  damaging, — yet  he  did  not 
believe  they  could  be  practically  wielded  against  him. 
But  what  else  was  known  ?  And  why  was  that  man  on 
the  box?  Such  were  the  thoughts  and  queries  which 
flashed  across  the  active  brain  now  bent  on  that  service  of 
extremest  need — to  rescue  its  owner  from  impending  des- 
truction. The  bell  was  rung  before  Ivirkwood  alighted, 
but  he  sprang  up  the  steps  with  a  sudden  purpose,  and, 
as  the  opening  door  permitted  a  flood  of  light  to  shine 
forth  into  the  darkened  street,  Kirkwood  wheeled  with  a 
rapid  movement  and  looked  behind.  The  glance  was 
sufficient.  Brief  as  it  was,  it  turned  him  half  sick.  He 
had  seen  the  features  of  the  unknown  man  on  the  box  ; — 
and  he  recognised  those  of  a  noted  detective. 

"  Courage,"  he  thought.  "  It  is  impossible  that  any  one 
can  have  wind  of  the  forgery.  Neither  Staggers  nor  Von 
Donk  had  any  spark  of  suspicion.  There  must  be  com- 
plaint— investigation — comparison — before  such  action  as 
this  could  occur.  Days  would  pass  at  least — that  must  be 
safe.  But  if  no  time  to  detect  the  forgery  how  much  less 
to  detect  the  mur — " 

"Be  pleased  to  walk  up  stairs,  sir,"  said  the  domestic, 
who  answered  the  bell.  The  door  closed  behind  him,  and 
Ivirkwood  was  ushered  into  a  rear  drawing-room  on  the 
floor  above.  The  servant  placed  a  chair,  said  something 
about  his  master  coming  presently,  and  withdrew.  "Was 
it  fancy  or  was  there  a  click  as  of  turning  a  lock  ?  Kirk- 
wood did  not  like  to  test  it — better  not  exhibit  suspicion, 
he  thought,  but  he  rose  stealthily  and  passing  to  a  window 


BEFORE   THE  STORM.  367 

at  the  extremity  of  the  room,  made  a  lightning-like  recon- 
noissance  of  the  situation.  The  windows  opened  upon  the 
top  of  an  apartment  below,  constituting  what  is  termed  an 
extension,  and  this  was  connected  again  with  neighboring 
structures  of  a  similar  character.  A  sash  was  open,  and 
Kirkwood  perceived  that  a  room  next  him  on  the  left  was 
also  accessible  from  the  roof  of  the  extension,  and  that  the 
third  house  in  the  same  direction  was  evidently  on  a  corner, 
and  had  a  vacant  lot  in  its  rear  facing  upon  a  street  which 
ran  at  right  angles  to  that  on  which  the  house  itself  stood. 
Satisfied  with  these  hasty  observations,  Kirkwood  glided 
back  to  his  seat  barely  in  time  to  anticipate  the  opening  of 
the  folding  doors  which  separated  the  room  he  occupied 
from  the  one  adjoining,  opposite  the  windows.  These 
doors  opened  noiselessly,  and  discovered  a  large  and  elegant 
apartment  wherein  were  seated  three  persons. 

At  a  table  covered  with  papers  sat  Oliver  Yernon,  upon 
whose  usually  benevolent  countenance  was  a  look  of 
thoughtful  resolution.  Opposite  him  sat  Eobert  Eliot, 
whose  paramount  expression  appeared  to  be  that  of  eager 
interest.  A  few  paces  behind  Vernon,  dressed  in  an  un- 
wonted suit  of  black,  and  with  an  air  of  profound  gravity 
on  his  shrewd,  kindly  face,  was  David  Greenwood.  Whe- 
ther or  not  the  honest  fellow  expected  to  be  called  upon  to 
act  a  Huguet  to  his  master's  Richelieu^  ke  had  between  his 
knees  a  stout  cudgel  of  hickory — the  most  dangerous  wea- 
pon he  had  ever  been  known  to  use. 

"  Turn  up  the  lights,  Peters,"  said  Vernon  to  the  servant 
who  had  opened  the  doors,  "turn  up  the  lights,  and  then 
leave  the  room." 

The  man  obeyed,  while  the  speaker  gravely  saluted  his 
visitor. 

"  I  sent  for  you,  Mr.  Kirkwood,  because  certain  facts 
have  come  to  my  knowledge,  of  which  justice  to  others 
compels  me  to  take  cognizance — facts  in  which  you  are  in- 
terested as  principal  actor — facts  which,  as  they  have  been 
productive  of  disastrous  consequences,  and  through  your 
agency,    I   would  gladly   give    you    the    opportunity   to 


368  d^\:n'Gerfield's  rest  ;  or 

atone,  so  far  as  it  may  now  be  possible,  before  it  is  too 
late." 

"I  know  not  what  you  refer  to,"  said  Kirkwood,  boldly, 
"  but,  if  we  are  to  talk  business,  I  suggest  that  we  should 
be  alone." 

"  What  I  have  to  say  must  be  said  before  witnesses," 
i-eturned  Yernon  gently.  "  It  will  make  no  difference  to 
your  disadvantage.  For  at  the  termination  of  this  inter- 
view you  will  either  be  disposed  to  quit  the  country  for 
ever— or  the  number  who  witness  your  disgrace  will  be 
quite  immaterial." 

"  If  you  sent  for  me  to  indulge  in  empty  insults,  Mr. 
Yernon,"  said  Kirkwood  haughtily,  "  you  might  have 
spared  yourself  the  trouble.  I  know  the  law.  I  know  the 
consequences  of  my  own  actions — better  perhaps  than  you 
know  the  consequences  of  yours — and  I'll  tell  you  one,  at 
least,  of  the  latter,  which  is,  that  I  shall  hold  you  to  strict 
personal  account  for  any  defamatory  expressions  you  em- 
ploy towards  me — to-night,  or  on  any  other  past  or  future 
occasion." 

"Will  you  oblige  me  by  coming  nearer?"  said  Yernon, 
in  the  same  dispassionate  tone.  "  Thank  you.  You  are 
unwise  to  lose  your  temper.  It  is  my  custom  to  speak  the 
truth  ;  you  can  judge  for  yourself,  when  we  have  finished, 
whether  I  infringe  it.     Do  you  know  this  writing  ?" 

"This  appears  to  be  a  sort  of  judicial  investigation," 
sneered  Kirkwood,  taking  the  paper.  "  However,  I  don't 
object  to  humor  the  comedy.  Know  the  writing  ?  Per- 
fectly. I^Iorc  ;  I  can  guess,  without  reading,  the  contents. 
Is  it  strange  that  a  woman  like  that  should  cherish  hatred 
under  the  circumstances,  which  you  know  as  well  as  I  ? 
Don't  you  know,  in  fact,  that  she  has  hated  and  vowed 
vengeance  against  me  for  years?" 

"  Granted.  But  if  you  committed  these  deeds,  her 
hatred  would  not  absolve,  any  more  than  it  made  you  com- 
mit them.  A  man  is  not  privileged  to  commit  thefts  and 
forgeries,  because  some  one  has  reason  to  dislike  his  person 
or  character." 


BEFORE   THE  STORM.  869 

"  Tut,  Oliver  Yernon,"  said  Kirkwood,  running  his  eye 
hastily  over  the  paper.  "  What  need  for  us  to  chop  sophis- 
try ?  I  say  that  these  charges  are  absolutely  calumnious 
and  false.  I  say,  further,  that  if  true  they  are  outlawed, 
beyond  the  pale  of  legal  prosecution." 

"  Does  that  apply  to  Elinor  Grazebrook's  patrimony  ?" 

"  Bring  an  action,  if  you  like,  and  put  it  to  the  test," 

Kirkwood  grew  bolder  and  bolder,  as  he  found  the  ex 
tent  and  scope  of  the  difficulties  he  was  likely  to  encounter. 
So  far,  he  saw  nothing  he  was  not  confident  of  refuting  or 
breaking  down. 

"  I  certainly  intend  to  endeavor  to  recover  it,"  said  Ver- 
non steadily,  "and  that  without  delay." 

"  Why  not  have  made  the  endeavor  before  ?"  asked 
Kirkwood  insolently.  "  Indeed,  why  pay  it  in  the  first 
place  at  all  ?" 

"Because  there  were  reasons  which  your  cunning  was 
not  at  a  loss  to  appreciate ;  reasons  why  scandal  should  not 
be  revived.  But  events  have  transpired  which  make  the 
principal  of  those  reasons  shrink  into  insignificance.  The 
lady  affected  can  no  longer  be  prejudiced  in  a  social  sense, 
for  her  position  is  now  assured.  For  the  rest,  if  you 
choose  to  inflict  disgrace  upon  your  own  child,  you  are 
worse  than  I  take  you  to  be." 

"  Eight  is  right,"  replied  the  other  roughly.  "  These 
personal  considerations  have  no  bearing  on  the  merits  of 
the  case." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  think  so,  for  if  you  are  will- 
ing to  adjust  all  things  in  consonance  with  pure  justice,  it 
will  simplify  our  understanding  very  materially." 

"  I  really  see  nothing  further  to  discuss.  To  all  that  I 
see  here,  and  to  all  that  you  say,  I  interpose  simply  a  gene- 
ral denial.  You  challenge  my  denial.  Good.  I  say,  in 
that  case,  proceed  and  establish  your  proofs.  Meanwhile  I 
shall  bid  you  good  evening."  And  with  his  favorite  as- 
sumption of  courtliness,  always  most  apparent  when  he 
was  well  at  ease,  Kirkwood  rose  and  prepared  to  leave  the 
room.     A  peculiar  smile  flitted  across  the  face  of  Eobert 

16* 


370  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

Eliot,  and  Vernon  also  arose,  and  stretcliing  forth  his  arm, 
said  with  dignity : — 

"  Not  so,  James  Kirkwood.  I  have  not  yet  Ifinished 
your  indictment !" 

A  chill  ran  through  Kirkwood's  breast. 

"  Strange,"  he  thought  again,  "  strange,  this  constant 
dread  of  the  impossible.  But  there  must  be  no  flinching." 
He  resumed  his  seat  with  the  smile  still  on  his  lip.  "  Pray 
finish  it  as  speedily  as  you  can,  then — I  have  engage- 
ments." 

"  There  shall  be  no  unnecessary  delay.  First,  it  is 
necessary  that  I  should  recal  some  circumstances  to  your 
mind — circumstances  which  have  passed  between  our- 
selves." 

"  Go  on." 

"  My  daughter  was  engaged  to  marry  Stephen  Danger- 
field.  The  pledge  was  on  the  eve  of  fulfilment.  You 
came  forward  and  prevented  it." 

"  You  yourself  justified  the  step  and  its  motives." 

"  True.  You  made  a  long  statement  whose  truth  Mar- 
tin Dangerfield  himself  has  since  corroborated  and  en- 
dorsed." 

"  He  has  ?"  asked  Kirkwood,  with  a  gleam  of  satisfac- 
tion. 

"  He  has.  You  declared,  and  he  repeated,  that  sixteen 
years  ago  himself  and  my  brother  William  had  an  encoun- 
ter on  the  cliff  between  Uplands  and  Dangerfield's  Rest. 
That  my  unhappy  brother  had  forged  Martin  Dangerfield's 
name,  and  that  there  were  other  differences  between  them 
which  led  to  the  altercation.  That  in  the  struggle  which 
occurred,  my  brother  met  his  death  at  the  hands  of  his 
antagonist.  Finally,  that  you,  having  witnessed  this  tra- 
gedy, had  religiously  preserved  the  secret  until  the  time  you 
communicated  it  to  me  for  a  special  purpose." 

Kirkwood  paused  for  a  moment  in  some  surprise  before 
he  rejoined  : — "And  which  secret  you  yourself  undertook 
to  keep." 

"  I  am  not  unmindful  of  that,  or  of  the  consequences  of 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  371 

the  infraction.     For  the  present,  I  will  ask  you  if  I  have 
correctly  stated  the  facts  in  question  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly." 

"  Then  I  may  proceed.  The  concurrent  testimony  of 
the  only  living  actor,  and  the  only  living  witness  of  this 
ghastly  scene,  I  regarded  as  conclusive.  You  said  true — 
that  my  child  could  not  espouse  the  son  of  her  uncle's 
murderer.  You  said  true — that  it  was  not  in  my  heart  to 
bring  this  poor  penitent,  heart-broken  man  to  what  is 
called  justice.     There  the  matter  ended." 

"As  was  expected — what  more?" 

"  That  which  is  most  important,  as  you  will  admit. 
This  wretched  story,  so  fatal  to  the  happiness  of  two  pre- 
cious lives  if  true,  would  manifestly  become  less  than  tri- 
vial if  proved  to  be  otherwise." 

He  paused,  and  looked  at  Kirkwood.  The  latter  bowed 
as  in  acquiescence.  He  was  listening  with  breathless  inte- 
rest. 

"  Less  than  trivial,  to  all  except  the  unhappy  person  who 
could  commit  the  crime  of  inventing  and  circulating  so 
wicked  a  calumny." 

"  Who  dares  to  insinuate — " 

"  Listen  and  judge.  Suppose  it  had  been  suggested  to 
me,  through  a  rare  and  marvellous  accident,  that,  in  this 
encounter,  William  Vernon  did  not  receive  his  death- 
wound  ;  that  he  was  only  stunned,  although  his  opponent 
believed  him  to  be  dead  ;  that  the  treacherous  friend  who 
was  present  conveyed  away  the  body  of  Yemon  while  he 
was  still  insensible,  and  afterwards  practised  on  the  fear 
and  credulity  of  the  supposed  assassin  for  sixteen  long 
years ;  that  the  victim  was  for  a  time  kept  quiet  by  re- 
ported threats  of  prosecution  for  forgery  put  forth  by  Dan- 
gerfield,  who  was  represented  as  fully  knowing  the  trifling 
character  of  the  wound  he  had  inflicted ;  that  the  pride  of 
Yernon  (who  had  already  brought  his  brother  to  disgrace 
in  early  life  by  a  similar  act,  of  which  he  himself  was 
guilty)  led  him  to  bury  himself  in  obscurity — first  in  Eng- 
land, and  then,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  in  this  country 


372  daxgerfield's  rest;  or 

once  more — disguised  alike  in  name,  and  person,  and  in 
his  adopted  calling — I  repeat,  suppose  all  this  had  been 
suggested  to  me,  what  should  you  say  to  it?" 

During  this  singular  narration,  Kirkwood  was  using  all 
his  energy  to  conceal  each  evidence  of  apprehension  or  dis- 
may. But  in  the  effort  the  blood  rushed  to  bis  head,  and 
the  veins  stood  in  knots  on  his  throat  and  head.  The  emo- 
tion, which,  however,  was  really  stronger  than  terror,  there 
was  no  occasion  to  conceal,  and  to  that  be  gave  full  vent. 
With  difficulty  he  restrained  himself  from  interrupting 
until  Yernon  bad  concluded,  and  when  he  spoke  it  was 
with  a  hoarse  shout  of  fury. 

"  Say  ?  Say  it  was  a  d — d.  infernal  lie !  a  most  atrocious 
be  !     I'd  swear  before  God  a  lie !" 

"  It  is  His  truth,  James  Kirkwood,"  said  a  solemn  voice 
from  an  inner  chamber,  and  William  Eadcliife,  with  Elinor 
and  Cuthbert  Boynton,  advanced  into  the  apartment.  "  It 
is  His  truth.  Add  not  to  your  other  crimes  the  sin  of 
perjury !" 

Kirkwood  stood  for  a  moment  transfixed  with  astonish- 
ment and  horror.  If  the  dead  had  actually  risen,  he  bad 
not  been  more  appalled.  Nor  was  there  any  need  of  ex- 
planation or  denial  as  to  identit3\  William  Yernon,  with 
all  the  changes  of  time  and  costume,  was  not  a  man  to  be 
forgotten  by  those  who  once  had  known  him.  But  had 
there  been  none  such  within  reach,  the  remarkable  resem- 
blance between  the  two  brothers,  as  they  stood  side  by  side 
together,  would  have  been  conclusive  evidence  of  the  rela- 
tionship. 

"  Yes,"  pursued  William  Yernon — for  we  should  no 
longer  call  him  Radchffe — "yes,  I  am  he  whom  Martin 
Dangerfield — after  being  sorely  tried,  and  struck  by  me  in 
a  moment  of  half-drunken  frenzy — shot  through  the  breast, 
and  believed  afterwards — as  I  have  since  learned,  but  did 
not  until  lately  know — to  have  died  from  the  wound.  I 
am  he  for  whose  youthful  crime  my  noble  brother  was  per- 
mitted to  suffer — to  exile  himself  for  life  in  a  foreign  land. 


BEFORE    THE    STORM.  373 

This  unhappy  man  well  knew  how  to  play  upon  my  weak 
and  facile  nature.  It  was  not  strong  enough  to  face  the 
exposure  which  he  threatened  as  a  consequence  of  my 
appearing  again  in  the  world.  For  years  did  I  burrow  in 
concealment.  But  a  merciful  God  willed  that  I  should  do 
some  good  before  I  died,  and  sent  this  brave  and  high- 
souled  girl  to  guide  me  to  that  good  as  His  appointed 
instrument !" 

By  this  time  Kirkwood's  iron  nerves  had  assumed  their 
accustomed  supremacy,  and  he  had  measured  with  practised 
cunning  all  the  disadvantages  of  his  situation  as  well  as  the 
chances  for  escape  from  its  consequences.  He  had  at  first 
glared  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  assemblage  as  if  in 
doubt  at  whom  to  spring,  and  honest  Uncle  Davy  had 
watched  his  expression  with  an  anxious  eye ; — but  as  Wil- 
liam Vernon  concluded,  the  disquietude  of  the  man's  coun- 
tenance gave  place  to  a  ghastly  smile,  and  he  waved  his 
hand  in  his  old  courtly  manner  to  the  company. 

"  This,  it  seems,  is  the  denouement  of  the  comedy  !  Kot 
badly  arranged,  Yernon,  and  does  you  infinite  credit.  'Tis 
idle  either  to  deny  or  to  confess  anything  when  one  has  to 
cope  with  so  adroit  a  manager ! — Especially  when  he  has 
the  assistance  of  so  strong  a  corps  dramatique !  Sorry  I 
can't  stay  for  the  farce,  but  the  pressure  of  business  must 
be  my  excuse — so  good  night,  all ;  Mr.  Vernon,  should  you 
have  further  accounts  to  settle  with  me,  you  know  my  address." 

And  availing  himself  of  the  surprise  which  for  the 
moment  this  original  method  of  viewing  the  case  engen- 
dered, Kirkwood  passed  swiftly  from  the  room.  Eliot  was 
the  first  to  speak : — • 

"Ought  we  to  permit  him  to  go  free?  He  may  yet  do 
mischief." 

"Not  so,"  said  Vernon.  "The  ofiicers  will  not  permit 
him  to  escape.     They  have  their  orders." 

Eliot  sprang  to  the  door  and  in  a  twinkling  descended 
the  stairs,  but  he  almost  instantly  returned  : — 

"  He  has  not  passed  into  the  street,"  he  cried  in  a  tone 
of  alarm. 


374  dangerfield's  rest  :  or 

"No?  Then  he  must  still  be  in  the  house,"  replied 
Vernon. 

The  detective  was  summoned  and  a  thorough  search 
made  of  the  premises,  but,  as  will  be  surmised,  in  vain. 
The  bird  had  flown.  The  experienced  official  soon  read 
the  riddle,  but,  as  he  averred,  Kirkwood  might  now  be  far 
away — especially  if,  as  was  most  likely,  he  had  caught  a 
carriage.  Oliver  Vernon  looked  at  his  watch — it  wanted 
but  five  minutes  of  the  time  for  the  express  train  to  leave 
for  the  north.  Too  late  for  that,  but  not,  as  all  agreed,  to 
despatch  warning  telegrams  to  Uplands,  and  to  Danger- 
field's  Kest,  as  well  as  to  the  authorities  along  the  route. 
The  rain  was  now  pouring  in  torrents,  and  David  Green- 
wood was  despatched  in  the  carriage  to  hasten  forward 
these  despatches.  But  he  soon  returned  disappointed.  The 
wires  were  down,  and  a  storm  raging  all  along  the  line. 
David  drove  to  the  railway  depot  where  there  was  also  a 
telegraphic  station,  and  received  a  confirmation  of  the 
statement.  A  gentleman  had  been  most  anxious  to  send  a 
despatch,  and  finding  it  impossible,  had  just  before  taken 
the  express  train.  It  was  determined,  as  the  next  best 
course  to  pursue,  that  Eliot  and  David  sliould  follow  by  the 
succeeding  train.  The  fears  of  the  party  were,  indeed, 
justified  by  the  facts,  for  Kirkwood,  by  dint  of  surpassing 
celerity  and  adroitness,  had  caught  the  express,  and  was 
flying  toward  the  North. 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  375 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

ON  this  eventful  night,  so  pregnant  of  consequences  to  the 
principal  characters  of  our  history,  Martin  Dangerfield 
was  lying  dangerously  ill.  Since  the  discovery  of  the 
supposed  crime  which  had  now  blighted  the  happiness 
of  his  son  as  it  long  had  blighted  his  own,  he  had  sunk 
into  a  stupor,  interrupted  at  intervals  by  the  delirium  of 
fever.  Stephen  spent  much  time  at  his  bedside,  only 
leaving  the  house  for  an  occasional  wild  gallop  over  the 
hills — and  for  this  he  selected  such  hours  as  were  least  likely 
to  bring  him  in  contact  with  any  of  the  inmates  at 
Uplands. 

On  this  occasion  the  old  man's  illness  had  assumed  a 
more  alarming  phase  than  before  ;  so  alarming  that  his  son 
resolved,  some  time  after  midnight,  to  fetch  the  attending 
physician  from  the  village.  For  the  sake  of  not  arousing 
the  household  as  well  as  for  that  of  speed,  he  went  forth 
to  the  stables  to  saddle  and  ride  Black  Vixen  for  the  errand 
himself  The  old  servant  who  acted  as  nurse  could  take 
care  of  the  sick  man,  but  could  not  be  trusted  to  manage 
the  spirited  animal.  Stephen  had  set  out  with  an  injunc- 
tion to  Williams  to  watch  his  father  carefully,  and  had 
been  gone  nearly  an  hour. 

Indeed,  the  road  was  so  dark  and  difficult  that  a  know- 
ledge less  intimate  than  those  of  both  horse  and  rider 
might  well  have  failed  to  trace  it  at  all.  This,  together 
with  the  fact  that  he  waited  to  see  Dr.  Saunders  started  on 
his  way,  accounted  for  Stephen's  detention. 

Martin  Dangerfield  was  delirious — not  constantly  but  at 
intervals,  and  this  was  the  reason  for  enjoining  vigilance 
upon  his  attendant.  But  it  happened,  soon  after  his  son's 
departure,  that  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  slept ;  at 
least  so  it  appeared  to  Williams,  who,  after  nodding  and 
blinking  in  silence  for  the  better  part  of  an  hour,  fell 
asleep  likewise. 

But  the  patient  was  not  sleeping  at  all.     As  he  lay  he 


876  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

could  see  across  the  quadrangular  space  which  lay  between 
the  wings  of  the  building,  to  the  windows  on  the  opposite 
side.  Since  the  night  he  was  taken  ill,  there  had  been  no 
lights  in  two  particular  windows  there,  until  now ;  and  now, 
for  the  first  time  they  had  re-appeared.  So  the  old  man 
lay,  his  brain  half  lucid,  half  confused,  wondering  and 
speculating  as  to  the  cause.  Anon  the  paroxysm  of  the 
disease  would  be  upon  him,  and  he  forgot  all  things  but 
the  consciousness  of  pain.  By  and  by,  after  one  of  these 
alternations  he  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  that  the  light  had 
again  vanished.  This  gave  him  a  feeling  of  disappoint- 
ment, which  was  relieved  when  he  saw  that  the  mysterious 
luminary,  having  quitted  its  first  abiding-place,  was  flitting 
from  point  to  point,  but  generally  descending,  as  he  could 
judge  by  seeing  it  at  casements  which  looked  forth  from 
the  staircases.  Finally  it  reached  the  angle  where  the 
addition  joined  the  main  building,  sharply  turned  the 
corner,  and  was  seen  coming  through  the  long  corridor 
toward  the  wing  where  the  sick  man  lay.  Presently  it  got 
beyond  the  line  of  vision  from  his  bed  and  he  saw  it  no 
more.  He  waited: — expecting  perhaps  to  hear  a  tread 
upon  the  stairs,  to  see  a  figure  advance  into  the  room,  but 
there  came  neither  one  nor  the  other.  He  waited  some 
five  minutes  and  all  was  still. 

Then  Martin  Dangerfield,  after  a  cautious  scrutiny  of  the 
sleeping  attendant,  arose  from  his  couch,  and  with  feeble 
and  uncertain  steps,  quitted  the  room  and  descended  the 
stairs  towards  the  library.  Noiselessly  he  moved  through 
the  passages  until  he  arrived  at  the  door,  which  opened 
gently  to  his  pressure.  Yes,  there  was  the  light  and  there 
was  the  man  who  had  carried  it.  His  back  was  turned  to 
the  door,  for  he  had  managed  to  open  the  cabinet  which 
has  been  mentioned,  and  was  busily  poring  over  the  papers  it; 
contained.  The  old  man  stood  on  the  threshold,  his  snowy 
hair  dishevelled  about  his  head,  and  his  long  night  dress 
making  him  appear  supernaturally  tall.     He  spoke  : — 

"  Hast  thou  returned,  O  mine  enemy  !" 

The  click  of  a  pistol  lock  and  a  hasty  exclamation  was 


BEFORE  THE   STORM.  377 

the  first  response,  but  as  he  turned  the  man  recognised  the 
speaker,  and  repHed  hurriedly: — 

"  Silence  !  I  would  do  no  harm.  You  must  have  left 
this  unlocked : — I  missed  a  paper  of  my  own  and  sought 
not  to  disturb  you.  Do  not  seek  to  stay  or  to  molest  me, 
or  it  will  be  worse  for  you.  See — I  am  about  to  go — to 
leave  the  country — and  I  shall  trouble  you  no  more." 

"  No." 

"No?" 

"  You  shall  not  go  hence.  You  seek  to  rob  my  son — 
to  despoil  him  of  his  patrimony.  You  thought  me  mad 
— unable  to  denounce  you  for  forging  my  signature.  I  am 
very  ill — dead  almost — but  not  mad,  and  I  shall  denounce 
you !" 

"  Fool — you  forget  that  I  can  denounce  you  in  turn." 

"  I  care  not  for  that — I  can  face  that  now.  A  very  little 
longer  and  all  will  be  over — but  Stephen,  though  he  be  a 
felon's  son,  shall  not  be  a  beggar  !" 

"You  rave — no  such  thing  as  you  hint  at  has  been 
dreamt  of  or  attempted." 

"  You  have  told  Stephen  of  the  mur — of  the  secret  which 
was  between  us." 

"  What  then  ?" 

"  I  know  you  well.  You  would  not  have  played  your 
last  card,  except  that  in  doing  so  you  were  ready  to  sweep 
the  board,     I  have  had  a  warning — not  unexpected." 

"  From  whom  ?" 

"  From  one  named  Eliot.  You  have  been  negotiating 
a  mortgage  at  New  York — there  is  but  one  inference — a 
forged  signature." 

"  False.     A  vile  ridiculous  invention." 

"  Then  you  will  stay  here  and  prove  it  so." 

"  No.  I  do  not  choose  to  remain.  I  have  work  to  do 
elsewhere." 

"  You  will  stay  until  my  son  returns." 

"  He  is  absent,  then?" 

In  his  weakness  the  old  man  had  committed  a  blunder. 
He  saw  it  a  moment  after,  and  sought  to  retrieve  it. 


378  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

"  For  a  few  moments  only — he  will  be  here  before  you 
could  leave  the  grounds  ;  besides — "  he  advanced  towards 
the  bell-rope  which  hung  at  the  side  of  the  door,  "  this 
will  arouse  the  servants." 

But  Kirkwood  was  too  quick  for  him.  In  a  second  he 
had  intercej^ted  Dangerficld's  approach  to  the  bell. 

"  Hearken  !"  he  said  fiercely.  "  There  must  be  no  noise 
here.  It  suits  me  to  leave  this  house  as  quietly  as  I  came, 
and  I  leave  it  at  once." 

"  That  you  shall  not  till  Stephen  returns." 

"  Dotard !  Let  me  pass,  or — "  and  he  advanced  threaten- 
ing. 

"  Never !  You  shall  stay  to  have  your  share  of  igno- 
miny— your  share  of  punishment !" 

As  Kirkwood  made  for  the  door,  the  old  man  threw 
himself  in  his  path.  There  was  a  brief  struggle — wretch- 
edly brief  indeed,  for  what  could  feeble,  broken  age  effect 
against  such  a  mass  of  resolute  thews  and  sinews  ?  There 
was  a  sharp  blow  in  the  temple,  a  shrill  cry  of  "  murder," 
and  a  hurried  rush.  Down  came  the  bewildered  domestic, 
startled  from  his  sleep,  to  find  Martin  Dangerfield  lying 
bleeding  on  the  floor.  The  opened  window  on  the  piazza 
showed  the  path  of  escape  taken  by  the  assailant,  but  Wil- 
liams would  not  or  dared  not  leave  his  master  to  pursue. 
That  duty  was  left  to  Stephen  Dangerfield,  who  five  min- 
utes after  gallopped  up,  and  learned  what  had  occurred. 


BEFORE   THE    STORM.  379 


CHAPTEE  LIY. 


MURDER! 
Kirkwood  neither  knew  nor  cared  now  whether  he 
had  committed  another  one.  Consistent,  at  least,  through 
all  his  crimes,  nothing  should  follow  the  last  and  most  des- 
perate to  endanger  his  safety,  or  to  thwart  his  desires.  The 
money — the  papers — must  be  had,  and  he  be  far  away  be- 
fore the  hue  and  cry  of  this  crowning  outrage  should  get 
abroad.  Everything  was  red  before  his  eyes — the  earth, 
the  trees,  the  heavens,  with  their  thick,  black  clouds, 
through  which  the  pale  moonlight  occasionally  struggled 
— all,  all,  blood-red.  Still  the  man  tore  on  with  desperate, 
bull-dog  tenacity,  unflinching  and  unflagging ;  had  he  sud- 
denly heard  the  Last  Trump,  and  had  known  the  next  hour 
brought  the  awful  Judgment,  he  still  had  held  his  way. 

First  he  made  for  the  highway,  as  being  the  shortest  road 
to  his  goal ;  but  it  lightened  up  now  and  then  with  the 
moonbeams  sprinkling  through  the  trees ;  and  he  heard  the 
distant  creak  of  a  heavy  wagon,  making  for  market,  may 
be ;  so  he  slunk  away  with  smothered  curses,  and  fought 
his  way  on,  over  fields  and  meadows,  through  hedges  and 
ditches,  and  patches  of  woods. 

He  formed  his  plan  as  he  went,  and  to  execute  it  seemed 
easy  enough.  He  would  get  what  he  wanted  at  the  Jutty, 
descend  afterwards  to  the  river's  bank,  cross  in  a  boat  at  a 
favorable  point,  and  take  the  earliest  down  train  to  the 
city.  Then  he  meant  to  go  to  the  Battery,  and  board  the 
Cunard  steamer  after  she  hauled  into  the  stream.  It  would 
not  be  prudent  to  run  the  risk  of  detectives  before  that,  for 
it  was  possible,  if  not  probable,  that  the  deed  might  have 
been  discovered  during  the  night.  He  would  go  to  Lon- 
don, or  to  Paris ;  Paris  was  a  gay  and  luxurious  city,  and 
might  better  suit  his  taste. 

Not  that  his  mind  was  much  occupied  with  festal  or 
lightsome  images.  Quite  the  contrary.  It  was  pressed 
down  with  a  dull,  heavy  weight,  which,  like  a  mountain 


380  dangerfield's  rest;  op 

• 
of  iron  bearing  inexorably  towards  the  centre,  could  nei- 
ther be  resisted  nor  evaded.  He  lashed  himself  onwards ; 
his  will  was  stubborn  and  dogged  enough ;  no  danger  of 
that  failing;  but  will  could  not  serve  to  rid  him  of  the 
weight.  It  was  not  Conscience ;  that  was  long  since  dead, 
but  the  horrible  presentiment  of  coming  retribution.  He 
felt  it  closing  densely  upon  him,  cruel  as  fate,  inexorable 
as  destiny. 

Suddenly  he  plunged  into  an  open  space,  and  saw  far 
below  him,  its  dark  bosom  crossed  and  spangled  with 
streaks  and  dots  of  glittering  light,  the  broad  and  gliding 
river.  It  was  red  too ;  dark  red  in  the  shadows — ghastly, 
crimson  in  the  lights.  He  shuddered,  and  drew  back  with 
a  thrill  of  terror.  Others  were  surely  looking  at  the 
stream  as  well  as  he ;  and  how  could  any  one  look  at  it 
and  not  know  that  a  Murder  had  been  committed  ?  He 
crouched  down  among  the  furze,  looked  carefully  at  the 
caps  of  his  revolver,  and  tried  the  edge  of  his  knife,  to  be 
ready  for  that  doomed  first  one  who  should  touch  his 
shoulder  with  the  appalling  sentence,  "  Thou  art  the  man." 

Then  he  nursed  his  head  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  and 
strove  resolutely  to  think.  What  were  the  chances  for  and 
against  him  ?  Suppose  some  one  had  heard  the  scuffle  in 
Af artin  Dangerfield's  chamber !  Not  Stephen,  he  was  ab- 
sent. But  some  one  of  the  servants  who  slept  in  the  same 
wing  !  No,  no  danger  of  that.  Whoever  had  heard  would 
have  come  or  given  the  alarm  at  once.  As  for  Mary,  there 
was  not  one  chance  in  ten  of  the  body  being  found  in  sea- 
son to  work  him  harm.  Even  suppose  the  neighbors,  b}'' 
some  unusual  accident,  did  discover  it,  who  was  to  connect 
him  with  the  crime  ?  No  one.  It  would  require  a  long 
chain  of  evidence,  the  proof  of  motives,  witnesses  to  for- 
mer association,  a  hundred  things  ;  no,  no  risk  of  that. 
He  was  safe,  then,  safe  and  free  as  air. 

Then  again  came  the  sickening  weight,  or,  rather,  it 
grew  heavier,  for  it  was  never  absent — crushing  and  burn- 
ing into  his  inmost  consciousness  the  indelible  conviction  of 
an   avenging  presence,  which  was  close  on  his  footsteps. 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  881 

Nearer  and  nearer  it  came,  never  halting,  never  merciful, 
surely  destined  to  accomplish  its  purpose,  without  pity, 
without  pause. 

A  triumphant  gleam  swept  for  an  instant  over  the  mur- 
derer's swarthy  features.  What  if  he  should  defeat  this  hor- 
rible pursuer,  this  implacable  avenger,  by  putting  between 
himself  and  It  an  impassable  chasm.  He  looked  at  the  pistol 
again  and  then  at  the  knife,  and  played  and  toyed  with 
the  trigger  of  the  one  and  the  handle  of  the  other.  He 
was  absolutely  on  the  point  of  using  one  of  the  weapons. 
The  fiend-like  Thing  could  not  follow  him  across  that 
stream.  Then  there  came  over  the  man  an  awful  convul- 
sive shuddering  as  the  thought  flashed  across  his  mind 
that  It  might  be  waiting  for  him  on  the  other  side. 

Again  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  fled.  But  for  the  dread- 
ful danger  he  would  have  screamed  aloud  ;  for  his  nervous 
system,  steel-like  as  it  was,  began  to  rock  and  quake  under 
the  tremendous  pressure.  He  sought  instinctively  to  restore 
the  equilibrium  by  great  physical  exertions.  He  tore  on 
with  superhuman  swiftness,  leaping  fences  and  gullies,  from 
which  he  would  have  shrunk  in  dismay  in  a  normal  con- 
dition. Presently  it  struck  him  that  there  was  much  time 
to  fill,  and  but  little  to  do  before  he  could  take  the  first 
morning  train.  Where  should  he  weary  out  the  hours  he 
had  to  spare  ?  It  was  not  yet  three  o'clock, — the  train  would 
not  arrive  before  half-past  six, — half  an  hour  was  time 
enough  in  which  to  cross  the  river, — to  reach  and  unearth 
his  treasure  would  take  half  an  hour  more, — so  there 
were  two  hours  to  fill — two  hours  of  waiting  and  expec- 
tancy.    Again  he  sat  down  and  reflected. 

He  shut  his  eyes  to  exclude  the  red  glare,  and  for  a  little 
space  there  came  wandering  over  his  seared  and  guilty 
brow  the  only  soft  and  gentle  expression  we  have  ever  seen 
there.  And  the  moonbeams  stole  calmly  and  purely  over 
the  murderer's  face,  and  it  looked  for  a  moment  almost 
beautiful  in  its  transient  and  remorseful  tenderness  ;  he 
was  thinking  of  his  child. 

The  only  human  and  kindly  feeling  in  that  heart  of 


382  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

adamant — the  only  trace  of  softer  sentiment  whicli  his 
wretched  life  and  selfish  nature  had  left  him — the  little 
remnant  of  the  angel  which  all  his  sordidness  and  crime 
could  not  quite  blot  out — came  breathing  and  speaking  up 
into  his  face,  and  brimming  his  poor  wicked  eyes  with 
tears  ;  and  when  he  looked  out  for  a  fleeting  moment  upon 
surrounding  nature,  seen  through  the  medium  of  those 
purifying  drops,  the  earth  and  skies  were  no  longer  red. 
But  he  looked  down  at  his  hands — and  the  horrible  color 
came  back  again. 

No,  he  could  not  see  his  child  with  its  mother's  blood 
fresh  on  his  soul.  How  could  he  fondle  that  little  head, 
and  stroke  down  those  glossy  curls  with  the  fingers  that 
but  yesternight  had  wrought  the  earthly  destruction  of  her 
who  had  borne  the  child,  and  whom  he  had  long  ago  sworn 
he  loved  so  well.  Easy  enough  to  go  to  Uplands — plenty 
of  time,  too.  He  knew  where  the  child  slept — he  might 
kiss,  without  awaking  her, — but  the  shivering  sensation 
which  ran  through  his  very  marrow  as  the  thought  flew 
across  his  brain  warned  him  that  he  should  go  mad  if  he 
tried  to  carry  it  into  execution. 

Once  more  he  arose  and  started  on  with  a  fresh  impulse. 
Drink !  He  must  have  drink  !  Quick !  he  must  do  what 
he  had  to  do  and  cross  the  river.  On  the  other  side  he 
could  get  brandy  somewhere,  and '  that  should  strengthen 
him  to  bear  up  under  his  fearful  burden  until  he  was  safe 
at  sea.  He  became  almost  cheerful  as  he  thought  of  this 
resource,  and  hastened  his  steps  that  the  time  might  be 
short  before  availing  of  it.  A  few  moments  more  brought 
him  close  to  the  Jutty,  and  he  crossed  the  fence  at  the 
place  he  knew  so  well,  and  crept  cautiously  from  bush  to 
bush  as  he  drew  nigher  to  his  hiding-place.  Cautiously  he 
stole,  to  avoid  being  seen  by  any  chance,  in  the  fitful  moon- 
beams which  shone  forth  at  intervals,  and  must  throw  out 
in  strong  relief  the  sharp  outline  of  tlie  upheaved  pro- 
montory. 

The  clouds  had  increased  in  weight  and  compactness, 
and  as  Kirkwood  reached  his  destination,  big  drops  had 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  883 

commenced  to  fall,  and  the  thunder  to  mutter  ominously 
over  his  head.  He  noted  these  facts  with  satisfaction.  The 
more  physical  disturbance  the  better.  Every  perturbation 
of  the  elements  furnished  him  with  additional  cover  and 
greater  consequent  security.  He  reached  the  top  of  the 
cliff,  and  groping  among  the  brush,  soon  found  the  flat 
stone  covered  as  he  had  left  it,  with  earth  and  rubble. 
He  had  no  spade,  but  his  knife  answered  the  purpose,  and 
with  its  aid  he  soon  turned  up  the  soil  which  concealed  the 
box.  Everything  was  undisturbed,  and  his  heart  beat  more 
freely  as  he  saw  so  much  of  his  task  safely  performed. 
"  So  far,  so  well,"  said  he  to  himself,  and  carefully  replac- 
ing as  nearly  as  possible  in  the  same  position  the  rubbish 
he  had  removed.  "  So  far  so  well,"  he  repeated  audibly, 
"  and  now  for  Europe!" 

As  he  spoke,  he  turned,  and  saw  standing  within  six 
feet,  and  regarding  him  with  fixed  attention — Stephen 
Dangerfield.  Neither  man  spoke,  for  each  knew  per- 
fectly well — although  for  different  reasons — that  there  was 
nothing  to  say. 

Kirkwood  was  uncertain  as  to  the  extent  of  the  injuries 
suffered  by  Martin  Dangerfield.  He  felt,  that,  although  in 
all  probability  they  were  not  mortal,  they  were  yet  suffi- 
ciently serious  to  warrant  the  detention  of  his  assailant  to 
abide  the  result.  He  ought  now,  properly,  to  be  in  cus- 
tody, and  Stephen  Dangerfield  was  not  likely  to  be  too 
lenient  with  him.  But  his  life  absolutely  depended  upon 
immediate  departure,  and  upon  no  hue  and  cry  being 
raised  in  pursuit.  To  attempt  to  wheedle  or  cajole  his 
opponent  was  hopeless.  That  device  had  been  attempted 
and  exhausted  before.  To  seek  safety  in  flight  was  equally 
idle,  for  that  opponent,  besides  being  younger  and  lighter 
than  himself,  was  unimpeded  by  any  extra  weight.  Kirk- 
wood, at  once,  realized  the  remaining  alternative,  and  with 
characteristic  hardihood  prepared  to  adopt  it.  It  would 
not  be  the  first  time  he  had  cut  his  way  through  an  obstacle 
which  he  could  not  circumvent.  Moreover,  he  was  well 
armed,  and  had  that  sort  of  vigour  fresh  upon  him  which 


384  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

desperation  gives — the  quality  which  makes  men,  as  well 
as  animals,  fight  harder  when  they  have  lately  tasted  blood. 

Stephen  was  as  resolved  in  the  course  he  had  determined 
on  as  a  man  could  be.  He  was  resolved  when  he  set  out 
from  The  Rest,  and  the  time  which  had  since  elapsed  served 
but  to  make  him  more  inflexible.  It  would  have  been  easy 
to  bring  help,  but  such  a  step  would  have  involved  a 
repetition  of  the  threat,  and  perhaps  even  the  positive  dis- 
closure of  the  damning  secret,  which,  like  the  sword  of  Damo- 
cles, Kirkwood  had  so  long  kept  suspended  over  his  house. 
Stephen  felt  that  he  would  be  justified  in  avenging  the 
gross  insult  and  personal  injury  inflicted  on  his  father, 
though  he  doubted  his  right  on  that  score  to  go  the  length 
of  shedding  blood.  But  for  the  long  arrearages  of  extor- 
tion and  insolence  which  had  followed  Kirkwood's  know- 
ledge of  what,  at  worst,  was  a  terrible  misfortune  rather 
than  a  premeditated  crime,  he  felt  he  had  a  right  to  exact 
stern  atonement.  At  all  events,  whatever  the  complica- 
tion of  motives  or  provocation,  Kirkwood  should  be  de- 
prived of  the  written  instruments  wherewith  he  had  already 
worked  so  much  evil,  and  threatened  so  much  more.  Nor 
should  he,  if  Stephen  could  help  it,  carry  away  to  enjoy  in 
comfort,  hoarded  treasures  whatever  they  might  be,  which 
he  knew  to  have  been  chiefly  extorted  from  his  unhappy 
father.  The  box  of  papers  whose  whereabouts  had  been  at 
last  discovered,  he  was  determined  to  have. 

The  two  stood  eyeing  each  other  in  the  moonlight,  with 
every  muscle  set,  every  nerve  braced,  in  readiness  for  a 
sudden  spring.  Then  ensued  a  solemn  pause,  broken  by  a 
long  reverberating  peal  of  thunder  which  was  almost  in- 
stantly succeeded  by  the  total  obscuration  of  the  moon 
with  dense  sable  clouds  from  which  the  crash  had  ema- 
nated. Down  came  the  rain  in  leaden  drops,  and  everything 
was  enveloped  in  pitchy  darkness.  Stephen  advanced  a 
step,  as  if  fearful  his  enemy  might  escape  in  the  gloom, 
and  Kirkwood  spoke  coolly  and  steadily : 

"  What  do  you  want?     Why  do  you  stop  my  path  ?" 

"  Those  papers.     Because  I  mean  to  have  them." 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  885 

A  knife  gleamed  in  the  air,  and  quick  as  thought,  was 
struck  from  Kirkwood's  grasp  by  the  butt  of  the  riding- 
whip  Stephen  carried  in  his  hand.  With  a  fierce  cry,  the 
assassin  threw  himself  on  the  young  man,  and  in  a  moment 
they  were  writhing  and  struggling  on  the  turf.  A  terrible 
conflict  ensued,  whose  result  it  would  have  been  very  diffi- 
cult to  predict.  The  vast  strength  and  superior  weight  of 
Kirkwood  would  seem  at  the  outset  to  have  given  him 
an  overwhelming  advantage.  But  Stephen  Dangerfield, 
though  both  a  lighter  and  more  delicately-framed  man, 
possessed  a  nervous  activity  and  a  fertility  of  resource 
which,  added  to  his  youth,  went  far  toward  balancing  the 
chances  of  the  encounter. 

Kirkwood  being  on  the  outer  side,  and  near  the  edge  of 
the  cliff,  strove  to  change  his  position  for  that  of  his  foe, 
with  the  view,  perhaps,  of  hurling  him  over  the  precipice. 
Stephen  perceived  this  purpose  and  lent  every  energy  to 
resist  it.  Both  men  grew  more  desperate  and  determined, 
for  it  was  now  clear  that  life  and  death  were  in  the  issue. 
They  struggled  first  to  their  knees,  and  then  to  their  feet, 
their  hands  and  arms  turning  and  twisting  into  a  tortuous 
grapple  from  which  neither  dared  withdraw,  lest  the 
movement  prove  fatal.  Kirkwood,  without  being  able 
to  change  places  with  his  antagonist,  had  yet,  by  sheer 
weight  and  strength,  forced  him  backward  some  distance 
from  the  original  point  of  the  struggle.  But  in  so  doing, 
his  foot  struck  against  an  obstacle  which  the  younger  man 
turned  to  account  by  throwing  him  heavily  on  his  back, 
and  with  lightning  swiftness,  planting  his  knee  on  the 
heaving  chest  of  his  enemy.  Then  Kirkwood  with  a 
supreme  effort  of  his  colossal  muscles,  and  seizing  Stephen 
by  the  throat  and  body  with  either  hand,  dashed  him 
several  feet  off ;  at  the  same  instant  each  recovered  a 
weapon,  for  Kirkwood's  hand  fell  on  his  knife,  and  Stephen 
recovered  his  whip. 

Again  they  rushed  together,  neither  seeing  until  the 
moment  of  meeting,  the  acquisition  of  the  other.  The 
butt-end  of  the  whip  once  more  descended  with  crushing 

17 


386  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

force,  partly  parried  by  the  left  arm  which  flew  up  to  save 
the  head.  At  the  same  instant,  however,  the  sharp  knife 
was  driven  savagely  into  the  young  man's  side  and  he 
reeled  and  fell  to  the  ground. 

Then  Stephen  Dangerfield  heard  a  strange,  rumbling 
sound,  like,  and  yet  unlike,  thunder — but  there  was  a 
slight  lull  in  the  storm,  and  again  the  moon  broke  fitfully 
forth.  Kirkwood  also  fell  back  from  the  effects  of  a  blow, 
which,  though  deprived  of  most  of  its  force,  had  severely 
bruised  his  head.  It  was  only  for  a  moment,  however,  for 
his  practised  eye  told  him  he  must  give  his  opponent  no 
time  for  recovery. 

Stephen  staggered  to  his  feet,  half-fainting,  and  blood 
streaming  from  his  side,  but  still  self-possessed  and  un- 
daunted. Fortunately  he  had  stumbled  upon  a  heavy 
stick,  which  was  safe  to  do  its  work  more  thoroughly  than 
the  lighter  riding-whip  which  he  now  cast  away.  As  he 
stood  with  his  bludgeon  poised,  awaiting  the  onset  which 
his  ebbing  strength  told  him  must  be  the  last,  he  again 
heard  the  mysterious  warning  sound  which  had  struck  his 
ear  as  he  fell,  but  which  he  had  no  thoughts  for  in  the 
critical  moment  which  was  approaching. 

Forward  rushed  James  Kirkwood,  flushed  with  triumph, 
for  he  knew  his  powerful  hand  had  struck  deep,  and  that 
no  strength  or  youthful  vigour  could  long  keep  up  when  the 
spring  it  had  opened  contmued  to  gush  forth.  Avoiding 
the  heavy  swirl  of  his  adversary's  bludgeon,  he  closed  with, 
and  struck  him  again  and  again  with  the  knife.  Stephen 
was  forced  to  his  knee,  each  moment  blinder  and  feebler^ 
but  nerving  himself  to  a  last  effort,  he  threw  himself  back 
a  few  paces,  and  then  rushing  at  his  foe  with  resistless  vio- 
lence, he  managed  to  deal  him  a  heavy  blow  in  the  fore- 
head.    The  next  instant  the  young  man  fell  and  fainted. 

Hurled  headlong  nearly  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  Kirk- 
wood rose  to  his  knees  blinded  with  blood,  but  with  a 
smile  of  savage  joy  on  his  face.  Strangely  enough,  he  had 
cither  forgotten,  or  as  yet  been  unable  to  use,  his  most 
dangerous  weapon.     The  deadly  revolver  was  in  his  hand 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  387 

now,  however,  cocked,  and  pointed  at  the  prostrate  form  of 
his  victim.  An  instant  to  dash  the  gathering  gore  from  his 
eyes,  and  to  take  a  steady  and  collected  aim  ;  tlie  next,  he 
pulled  the  trigger.  But,  as  he  did  so,  the  ground  between 
himself  and  the  body  of  Stephen  Dangerfield  opened  with 
a  thunderous  crash.  A  huge  fragment  was  sundered  from 
the  side  of  the  precipice,  and  fell  eastward  as  it  was  torn 
away.  The  promontory,  long  overhanging  and  dangerous 
— its  foundations  undermined  by  the  attrition  of  centuries 
induced  by  the  ceaseless  action  of  the  great  stream — had 
broken  away,  at  last,  with  the  added  impulse  of  the  despe- 
rate struggle  on  the  crest.  The  vast  mass  turned  as  it  fell, 
and,  after  some  seconds,  plunged  into  the  waters  below 
with  a  hollow  roar,  burying  the  body  of  the  homicide  for 
ever  in  the  bosom  of  the  mighty  river. 


CHAPTEE  LV. 

WILD  and  furious  was  the  storm  which  rattled  and 
crashed  that  night  among  the  hoary  hills  of  the 
Hudson.  The  thunder  pealed  forth  its  celestial  cannonade 
in  those  appalling  volleys  which  blanch  the  cheek,  and 
make  the  heart  stand  still  with  awe.  The  lightning  play- 
ed in  forked  swiftness  from  the  Catskills  to  the  Palisades, 
rifting  many  a  rock,  and  laying  low  many  a  forest  tree. 
The  heavens  were  piled  with  sooty  draperies,  which  poured 
forth  torrents  of  blinding  rain.  The  wind  shrieked  in  savao^e 
dissonance,  as  it  tore  up  the  valley,  and  flew  round  the  brow 
of  the  cliff.  Nature  seemed  to  have  ransacked  her  armory  to 
launch  forth  each  weapon  of  chaos  and  destruction.  And 
destruction  came  to  the  works  of  man  as  well  as  to  those 
of  Heaven.  Fragile  houses  were  blown  down,  and  the 
chimneys  crumbled  from  the  tops  of  the  stouter  ones. 
Barns  and  granaries  were  destroyed,  and  the  affrighted  cat- 
tle ran  bellowing  through  the  fields.    Vessels  were  torn 


388  dangerfield's  rest;  or 

from  their  anchorage,  and  dashed  violently  against  the 
shores.  The  timid  nestled  closer  in  their  beds,  and  the 
superstitious  hid  their  heads  for  fear.  To  those  who  look- 
ed forth  into  the  night,  all  seemed  darkness,  ruin,  and  deso- 
lation. 

And  yet  the  morning  broke  bright  and  beautiful.  The 
tempest  was  brief  as  it  had  been  violent.  Even  what  it 
left  behind  breathed  more  of  sweetness  than  of  bitterness  ; 
for  the  whole  face  of  the  earth  exhaled  a  mild  and  deli- 
cious fragrance.  And  they  who  looked  forth  to  inhale  the 
spirit  of  the  morning  knew  not  that  the  powers  of  the  air 
had  been  chanting  the  requiem  of  a  criminal  gone  to  his 
long  account — thought  not  of  aught  as  coming  from  the 
heavens  but  Hope — for  over  opposite  the  warm  red  sun, 
circling  a  mass  of  sullen  but  retreating  clouds,  and  putting 
to  shame  the  cold  glitter  of  the  morning-  star,  they  saw  the 
Bow  of  Promise. 

It  was  daylight  when  Eobert  Eliot  and  David  Green- 
wood found  the  insensible  but  still  living  body  of  Stephen 
Dangerfield.  lie  had  suffered  greatly  from  loss  of  blood, 
but  youth  and  a  healthful  organization  soon  repaired  the 
loss,  and  not  many  days  passed  before  Stephen  was  himself 
again.  They  bore  him  to  his  home,  where  they  found  his 
father  by  no  means  seriously  injured,  but  attended  by 
Oliver  and  William  Vernon,  who  had  hastened  to  comfort 
the  old  man  with  the  thrice  happy  news  that  he  who  was 
dead  was  alive  again,  and  that  the  proud  old  race  of  Dan- 
gerfield was  saved  from  the  stigma  of  a  felon's  name. 

And  Grace  and  Stephen,  Elinor  and  Cuthbcrt,  were, 
after  all,  married  on  the  same  day.  To  be  sure  this  day 
was  postponed  somawhat,  by  reason  of  Stephen's  misfor- 
tune ;  but  it  was  all  the  happier  when  it  did  come,  and 
none  regretted  the  delay  when  they  thought  of  the  solemn 
event — so  clearly  indicating  the  interposition  of  Providence 
— which  had  made  it  necessary. 

Cuthbert  is  practising  law  in  the  great  city,  and  has 
never  regretted  the  sacrifice  which  his  love  first  prompted, 


BEFORE   THE   STORM.  389 

but  which  his  conscience  and  his  reason  have  taught  him, 
year  by  year,  more  thoroughly  to  rejoice  in  and  approve. 
Both  his  wife  and  himself  spend  much  time  at  Uplands 
and  Dangerfield's  Eest ;  and  of  all  the  pleasant  people  to 
be  met  with  at  both  houses,  we  need  scarcely  say  that  none 
are  more  loved  or  more  welcome  than  themselves. 

No  inquiries  have  ever  been  made  for  the  body  of  James 
Kirk  wood;  and  it  was  judged  better  on  all  accounts  to  let 
his  fate  remain,  like  his  corpse,  buried  in  oblivion.  The 
papers  with  which  he  had  hoped  to  fly  were  all  found,  and 
both  Gossamer  Yon  Donk  and  Mr.  Staggers  were  very  glad 
to  recover  their  money ;  and,  especially  on  learning  the 
mortgage  was  a  forgery,  to  accept  the  belief  that  Kirk  wood 
had  fled  the  country  through  fear  of  detection,  leaving  in 
his  haste  both  cash  and  documents  behind. 

It  happened  that  Elias  P.  failed  in  business  shortly  after 
Kirkwood's  disappearance ;  and  some  people  were  ill-natured 
enough  to  say  that  the  broker  unfairly  attributed  certain 
losses  and  bad  debts  to  that  person's  account,  so  that  his 
credit  was  for  a  time  under  a  cloud.  He  has,  however, 
emerged  from  its  shade  as  often  before,  and  is  now  carrying 
sail  in  Wall  street  as  merrily  as  ever. 

Gossamer  Yon  Donk  finally  came  to  marry  Joanna 
Heydensucker.  How  it  was  brought  about  no  one  knows, 
but  he  boasts  that  at  all  events  he  hasn't  as  much  to  fear 
from  the  Honorable  Job  as  formerly,  the  latter  worthy,  by 
dint  of  pettifogging,  politics,  and  alcohol,  having  reduced 
himself  to  comparative  imbecility.  Mrs.  General  has  not 
yet  succeeded  in  marrying  Yioletta  and  Zerlina,  although 
there  has  been  a  flirtation  on  the  carpet  between  the  former 
and  Mr.  Slymer  for  several  seasons  past.  As  for  the 
General  himself,  he  has  attained  a  rather  apoplectic  con- 
dition, but  agrees  with  his  old  friend  McSwindle  and  the 
confrerie  of  the  Pewter  Mug,  in  hating  the  "  naygur"  as 
cordially  as  ever. 

William  Yernon  did  not  long  survive  the  act  which 
brought  happiness  to  so  many.  His  constitution,  shattered 
by  early  excess,  had  only  been  kept  up  of  late  years  by 


390  dangerfield's  rest  ;  or 

artificial  stimulants.  He  sank  into  a  quiet  and  peaceful 
grave,  surrounded  by  friends  and  relatives,  and  bappy  in 
the  blessed  conviction  that  he  had  done  some  good  before 
he  died. 

The  fate  of  Mary  Grazebrook  has  ever  continued  to  be 
shrouded  in  mystery.  No  trace,  no  vestige  of  her  unhappy 
life,  nor  of  her  miserable  death,  ever  repaid  the  anxious 
researches  instituted  by  Oliver  Vernon.  For,  notwithstand- 
ing the  precautions  of  her  destroyer,  the  flames  he  had 
lighted  caught  the  adjacent  wood- work,  and  by  the  same 
hour  that  Kirkwood  slept  in  his  watery  grave,  only  heaps 
of  ashes  marked  the  spot  where  had  stood  not  only  her  own 
but  a  dozen  dwellings  which  surrounded  it.  Long,  how- 
ever, before  the  fire  could  have  expelled  it,  her  weary 
spirit  had  passed  painlessly  away ;  to  find,  let  us  hope, 
mercy  and  consolation  in  the  happier  sphere  beyond. 

While  her  betrayer  yet  lived  she  seemed  to  have  some 
purpose  in  life ;  she  was  not  wholly  aimless.  To  ferret 
out  and  baffle  his  insidious  schemes  had  engrossed  her 
thoughts,  and  was  regarded  by  her  in  some  degree  as  an 
expiation  of  the  past.  While  she  could  warn  or  guard 
Stephen  Dangerfield,  her  daughter,  or  Yernon,  from  the 
evils  this  man  so  artfully  contrived,  her  life  was  not 
altogether  a  useless  one.  That  time  was  past ;  and  with 
it  what  she  deemed  her  mission  was  at  an  end.  Perhaps 
if  we  could  see  more  clearly  than  is  yet  permitted,  we 
might  distinguish  a  defined  relation  and  purpose  in  the 
dispensation  whereby  these  two  sin-connected  souls  were 
taken  from  earth  on  the  self-same  stormy  night;  mean- 
while let  pity  draw  a  charitable  veil  over  the  faults  and  the 
memory  of  one  who,  considering  her  trials  and  temptations, 
was,  perhaps,  more  sinned  against  than  sinning. 

Robert  Eliot  has  not  yet  written  his  book,  but  we  hear 
that  it  may  soon  be  expected.  When  it  appears  we  do 
not  look  for  him  to  see  only  one  side  of  our  shield  and 
declare  it  all  gold — or  to  view  the  other  alone  and  pro- 
nounce it  all  silver — neither  do  we  think  to  find  him  adopt 
the  course  many  of  his  countrymen  select  as  most  popular 


BEFORE  THE  STORM.  391 

and  proclaim  it  a  composite  of  baser  metal  than  either — 
but  we  hope  for  a  rational,  well-bred,  and  truthful  expo- 
sition smacking  more  of  the  character  of  the  old-fashioned 
English  gentleman  than  of  the  new-fashioned  English 
tourist — a  distinction  which  even  the  most  ignorant  Ameri- 
cans know  tolerably  well  how  to  appreciate. 

David  Greenwood  and  Aunt  Mercy  married  at  last, 
having  been  unable  to  withstand  the  contagious  examples 
of  their  betters.  It  must,  however,  be  admitted  that  their 
lives  glide  on  much  in  the  same  way  that  they  did  before, 
as  David  says,  "  they  concluded  to  hitch  bosses." 

Good  Mrs.  Maberly  lives  with  the  Boyntons,  and  takes 
the  warmest  interest  in  their  growing  family. 

We  need  scarcely  say  that  Oliver  Vernon  lost  his  elec- 
tion,— or  that  such  an  event  gave  him  no  great  concern. 
Nor  need  we  say  that  he  adheres  strongly  to  those  views 
and  principles  which  have  been,  in  a  measure,  described. 
His  faith  is  abiding  in  the  future  greatness  and  worthiness 
of  his  country,  nor  has  the  tremendous  tempest  which  has 
of  late  been  sweeping  over  it,  shaken  that  faith  or  impaired 
its  established  convictions.  On  the  contrary,  he  believes 
that  the  reforms  and  corrections  which  are  essential  to  the 
national  happiness  and  dignity,  will  be  facilitated  and 
hastened  by  the  storm  which  has  overtaken  us,  and  which 
long  years  of  slothful  progression  and  cumulative  abuse 
might  otherwise  have  been  consumed  in  effecting.  But 
Vernon's  philanthropy  is  broad  and  cosmopolitan,  and  he 
deems  that  whatever  betide  in  the  future,  the  achievements 
of  the  past  should  be  credited  us  by  the  nations — for — as  he 
lately  wrote  Eobert  Eliot,  in  allusion  to  the  prophecies  and 
wishes  of  too  many  English  tongues  and  pens  : — "  Even 
if  this  Union  be  broken  into  fragments, — even  were  its 
sons  scattered  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven, — though  every 
star  were  blotted  from  its  escutcheon,  and  the  memory 
of  the  past  obscured  like  Assyrian  legends,  we  may  yet 
draw  consolation  from  the  belief  that  her  example  has 
been  of  inestimable  value  to  mankind,  and  that  tl^e  Great 
Eepublic  has  not  risen  and  flourished  in  vain." 


392  dangerfield's  rest. 

Five  years  have  rolled  away  since  these  friends  of  ours 
sailed  over  the  summer  seas  in  the  Assyria.  They  have 
met  again  at  one  of  their  midsummer  gatherings. 

Dangerfield's  Rest  looks  much  as  it  did  of  yore.  Little 
by  little,  more  weather-stained  and  grey,  perhaps,  and  the 
ivy  is  embracing  with  its  loving  green  arms  something 
more  of  the  stout  walls  than  when  we  last  saw  them. 

All  our  friends  are  there — Oliver  Vernon,  the  Boyntons, 
Grace,  Martin  Dangerfield,  and  the  child — grown  now  into 
a  dreamy  broad-browed  girl — his  son  brought  from  the 
wreck. — There  are  little  children,  too,  little  Dangerfields 
and  little  Boyntons — all,  all  but  Stephen — and  he  is  away 
fighting  the  battles  of  his  country. 

They  are  looking  forth  on  the  shimmering  line  of  the 
far  off  sea,  and  talking  of  the  absent  one.  The  two  old 
men  were  never  weary  of  that  theme  any  more  than  Grace 
was.  Oliver  had  spoken  of  Stephen's  bringing  the  little 
one  from  the  schooner,  and  of  his  fondness  for  her  : — 

"  Strange  fate,"  murmured  Martin  Dangerfield,  "  the 
Instrument  to  save  the  child  and  to  destroy  the — " 

"  Poor  lamb,"  said  Grace  hastily,  as  Ally  came  wistfully 
between  the  old  men,  looking  up  at  each. 

"  Fear  not,"  said  Oliver  Yernon  reverently,  "  God  hath 
sent  thee  two  fathers  now,  Alabama  ! " 

"  Alabama,"  echoed  Old  Martin,  dropping  his  withered 
hand  on  her  bright  curls,  "  Alabama," — and,  half  uncon- 
sciously translating  the  soft  name,  he  whispered — "  Here 
we  rest." 


GEN.  McCLELLAN'S 

REPORT  AND  CAMPAIGNS. 

THE  ONLY  COMPLETE   MD  ACCURATE  EDITION. 


By  Special  Arrangement  with  Gen.  McClellan, 
SHELOOIV    So    Co., 

r*  ubli  shers, 

335  Broadway,  N.  Y., 
Have  published  a 

FULL  AND  COMPLETE  EDITION  OF  HIS  EEPOET. 
While  going  through  the  press,  this  edition  was  corrected 
by  Gen'l  McClellan.     It  has  none  of  the  remarkable  errors 
which  have  crept  into  the  Government  edition  and  all  the 
other  editions  that  have  followed  the  Government  edition. 
It  also  has  the 
"CAMPAIGN  IN  WESTERN  VIRGINIA," 
prepared    by    Gen.   McClellan  expressly  for  this  edition. 
Illustrated  with  Maps,  &c.     One  volume,  8vo.     Price,  $2.50. 


12mo  edition  of  the  same,  bound  in  cloth,  with  all  the  Maps, 
Price,  $1.50.     Bound  in  boards,  $1.25. 

From  the  Journal  of  Commerce. 
"  We  regret  that  the  Congressional  edition,  the  Kebellion  Record  edition, 
and  other  cheap  editions  of  the  report  are  incomplete  and  inaccurate,  omit- 
ting entirely  some  portions  which  present  the  most  interesting  and  important 
view  of  the  relations  of  General  McClellan  to  the  Cabinet,  the  army  and  the 
country.  The  edition  published  by  Sheldon  &  Company,  under  General 
McClellan's  authority,  is  accurate." 

From  the  Post,  Chicago. 
"  Sheldon  &  Co.  have  issued  their  edition  of  General  McClellan's  report  on 
the  Organization  and  Campaigns  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  to  which  is 
added  an  account  of  the  Campaign  in  West  Virginia,  from  the  General's  own 
pen.  This  edition  is  the  only  one  which  gives  the  main  report  in  full ;  im- 
portant parts  of  it,  relating  to  very  critical  periods  in  the  history  of  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac,  being  omitted  from  the  Congressional  edition,  and,  by  con- 
sequence, from  fill  other  editions,  without  exception,  which  are  mere  reprints 
of  that.  The  edition  published  by  Sheldon  &  Co.,  is  complete  and  authentic, 
and  is  the  only  complete  and  authentic  edition." 

From  the  Boston  Post. 
"  No  man  can  feel  that  he  has  a  copy  of  McClellan's  Report,  without  a 
copy  of  this  edition." 


JSooks  Published  by  Sheldon  c&   Co. 


Ready    April   15th. 

DANGSRFJELD'S    REST. 

OB 

BEFORE    THE    STOI£]MC. 

A  Novel  of  American  Life  and  Manners.     One  volume, 
large  12mo.     Price,  $1.50. 

This  ia  the  production  of  a  polished  and  experienced  pen,  qualified  by  much 
travel,  experience  and  literary  practice  in  other  walks  of  literature,  to  attempt 
an  elaborate  description  of  American  Life,  Politics,  Letters  and  Factiona, 
whose  clashing  led  us  to  the  Great  RebeUion, 

It  ^vilI  be  especially  attractive  to  those  who  believe  in  the  indestructibility 
of  the  Union,  and  to  those  who  desire  to  see  the  American  people  rise 
through  their  present  ordeal  to  a  higher  standard  in  morals  and  manners. 


Ready   April   20th. 


A  Novel  by  Rosa  Vertneb  Jepfeey,  author  of  "  Poems  by 
Rosa."     One  volume,  12mo.     Price,  $1.50. 

From  the  Louisville  Journal. 

A  New  Attraction  in  the  Literary  World. — A  Novel  from  the  Pen 
OP  Mrs.  Rosa  Yertner  Jeffrey. — A  novel  entitled  "  Woodburn,"  by  Mrs. 
Rosa  Vertner  Jeffrey,  who  under  the  nom  de  plume  of  "  Rosa"  has  achieved 
eo  bright  a  reputation  as  a  poetess,  is  forthcoming  from  the  press  of  Sheldon 
&  Company,  New  York  City.  Where  its  scene  is  laid,  or  what  its  plot  is,  ot 
who  is  its  hero  or  heroine,  are  points  upon  which  the  public  as  yet  have 
received  no  inkling ;  but  those  who  are  acquainted  with  the  genius  and  taste 
of  the  fair  authoress  must  feel  assured,  that,  in  respect  to  the  scene  and  plot 
as  well  as  in  all  other  respects,  the  production  will  bo  brimful  of  charm.  Her 
legion  of  admirers  feel  a  world  of  curiosity  respecting  the  work  but  no  solici- 
tude. They  confide  impUcitly,  as  they  well  may,  in  her  rare  and  beautiful 
powers. 

We  predict  6x  "  Woodbubn"  a  very  rapid  and  extended  Bale. 


NEW   BOOKS   THIS   FALL 


PETER       CARRADINE, 

OK 

THE  MARTINI) ALE  PASTORAL. 

By  Caroline  Chesebro'. 
One  vol  12mo.     $1.50. 


BROKEN      COLUMNS. 

A  Novel  of  great  power  and  interest. 
One  voL  12mo.     $1.50. 

(From  Peter  Bayne,  Author  of  ''  Christian  Life,"  "  Essays,"  etc.  etc.) 

"  I  have  complied  with  your  request,  and  read  "  Broken  Columns"  carefully 
I  do  not  hesitate  to  pronounce  it,  in  my  judgment,  superior  to  "  Adam  Beda* 
The  plot  is  admirable,  and  the  execution  is  a  smgular  nearness  to  perfoctioii. 
You  muet  not  hesitate  to  pdblish  it.  I  am  confident  when  it  is  read  and 
known  it  will  have  an  extensive  sale." 


HUSKS. 

By   Marion    Harland. 

Author  of   "  Alone,"   "  Hidden  Path,"    "  Moss    Side,"   "  Nemeiia,"    and 

"  Miriam." 

One  vol  12mo.     $1.50. 


CHRISTMAS      STORIES. 

By  Charles  Dickens. 

An  elegant  edition  on  tinted  paper,   small  quarto  size,  illustrated  from 
designs  by  F.  0.  C.  Darley. 

One  vol.  4to. 

SHELDON  &  COMPANY,  Published, 

335  Broadicay,  New   TorJc. 


Books  Published  by  Sheldon  d;  Co. 


MARION     HARLAND'S   WORKS. 

Uniform  editions  of  the  works  of  this  favorite  authoress  are  now  ready. 

ALOKE.     1  volume.     12mo.     Price  $1.50. 
HIDDEN  PATH.     1  volume.     12mo.     Price  $1.50. 
MOSS    SIDE.     1  volume.     12mo.     Price  $1.50. 
NEMESIS.     1  volume.     12mo.     Price  $1.50. 
MIRIAM.     1  volume.     12mo.     Price  81.50. 
M  USES.     1  volume.     12mo.     P^icc  $1  50. 

Notices  of  "Nemesis." 


"  It  is  a  story  of  surpassing  cxcellenco — its  scene  laid  in  the  sunny  South,  about  half  a 
century  ago  ;  its  characters  limned  with  a  master's  hand  ;  its  sketches  graphic  and  thril- 
ling, and  its  conclusion  very  effective.  Such  a  work  is  beyond  criticism,  and  needs  uo 
praise."— 2Vo!/  American. 

"  In  all  the  characteristics  of  a  powerful  novel  it  will  compare  favorably  with  the  bert 
productions  of  a  season  that  has  produced  some  of  the  most  successful  books  that  have 
appeared  for  a  long  time." — Courier  and  Enquirer. 

" '  Nemesis '  is,  by  far,  the  best  American  novel  published  for  very  many  years. — PhiU 
adelphia  Press. 

"  It  is  worthy  of  note  that  the  former  works  of  this  authoress  have  been  republished 
In  England,  France,  and  Germany — indeed,  no  other  Americiin  female  writer  has  the 
honor  of  a  republication  in  the  Leipzig  issues  of  Alphonse  Durr,  which  embraces  Bryant, 
Longfellow,  Hawthorne,  and  Prcscott."— iV.  Y.  Home  Journal. 

"Marion  Ilarland,  by  intrinsic  power  of  character,  drawing  and  descriptive  facility, 
bolda  tbe  public  with  increasing  faacinatiou."— H'cw/ii/v/to)*  SUtUsmatu 


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